


Trial Run

by smiley_anon, Zalein



Series: River Crossings [5]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, High Octane Nightmare Mindfuckery, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Mind the Author's Notes for Warnings, More tags to appear, Post-Game, Sequel, Sexual Predation, Torture, as in‚ Solar-Oven-Slow Slowburn, politicking, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2020-07-10 08:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 105,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smiley_anon/pseuds/smiley_anon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalein/pseuds/Zalein
Summary: Human-android tensions are ratcheting up, even as Jericho does its best to promote a peaceful future. After one particularly vicious attack from humans, Connor and Josh are called back to Detroit to recover until things quiet down again. This should be fine, right? They’re on their home turf, and the gang’s all together again.…Life isn't that simple. Between new friends and old enemies, Jericho quickly finds itself under more pressure than it can take—and that's before threats start to span the globe.Expect: questionable allies, violent solutions, and everyone doing their unfortunate best. This is the fic where North crosses half the world to give a friend a metaphorical ride home.





	1. The Railway

**Author's Note:**

> This won’t be short. Heaven save us both.
> 
> Please watch the author’s notes for announcements of new tags or particular chapter warnings! 
> 
> The update schedule is once every two weeks until we run out of chapters or finish the fic, whichever comes first.
> 
> This fic is the latest in a series. If you want to skip to this fic before reading the others (or if you just want a refresher), a summary of the most important points can be found in the bottom notes!

\---

**Connor**

\---

“Oh--Connor! There you are.”

Connor blinked, jerking his gaze up from the fire barrel’s glow. It was sunset, and the light in the room was weak, but the other android’s smile was bright, and her blue LED stood out in the darkness. Past the fire other androids were silhouetted as they mingled and talked, LEDs floating like fireflies. He ignored them, offering a faint smile back.

“... Penelope.” A small but formidable WE900, Penelope was likely the biggest reason why he and Josh had been successful in their negotiations with the Los Angeles deviants. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for all your help.”

She shook her head dismissively, glossy curls bouncing. “Uh uh, Connor, I’m here thanking _you_ right now. Here, have a drink.” She pressed a plastic wine flute of thirium into his hands, and he closed his fingers around it automatically.

“Thank you.”

She lifted her own, smiling at the fire’s reflection. “We’ve made history with today’s treaty, all of us here.”

“We have,” Connor agreed quickly. “There’s never been such a large network of deviants before. Your cooperation was invaluable.”

“Thank you,” she sighed tiredly. “I think we’ll need to credit the four secretary-models for most of that. All I did was keep Rufus too busy arguing to sidetrack things a fourth time.”

“You also laid out several points that were used to draft the official written agreement,” Connor pointed out. “Not everyone had such clear goals”

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment, LED cycling. Then she smiled. “Well--Thank you, Connor. ”

He smiled back. The conversation didn’t last much longer after that, and soon she was patting him on the arm and walking away.

Connor turned back to the barrel, breathing a shallow sigh that no one was close enough to hear. He tilted his head a little, shifting to appease a tension that had been settled into his shoulders almost constantly these last few weeks.

He missed Sumo. He missed Detroit.

“Cheers, Connor,” someone said unexpectedly. They clinked their cup with his, and Connor stiffened, face arranging into a multipurpose smile until he realized who it was.

“Josh,” Connor replied.

“Connor,” he returned, smiling. Then his eyes sharpened with interest. “... Wow--is it just me, or do you look… tired?”

Connor just looked at him, holding back a sigh.

“Oh. Don’t mind me,” said Josh, teeth flashing in a small smile. “Just, someone told me that _negotiator_ models didn’t--”

“Crisis negotiators,” Connor corrected wearily, regretting an unfortunate slip of phrasing that Josh refused to let go. “And I didn’t actually _say_ \--”

“I know, I know.” Josh looked amused. “All teasing aside, I wasn’t criticizing. Considering how long you’ve been at it, I’m actually pretty impressed. I was starting to worry I was dragging us down.”

Connor opened his mouth, and--

...froze, audio receptors logging a distant crash on the level below. Several crashes? There was an aborted shout--then a piercing electronic whine, and he stepped back, spinning toward the door--

For an instant it was like the air itself turned to radio-static. His inputs were maxed, every sensor on fire as cognition blotted out line by line. The next thing he was aware of was waking up on the floor, ears thunderously silent. His biocomponents were out of sync, different functions struggling to reboot, and the ground tilted under him like the deck of a ship in a storm. Brilliant, senseless waves of color assaulted his vision even with his eyes closed.

He moved, then flinched as something cracked. His synthetic skin was glitching, pliability lost, and as he opened his eyes, he felt bits crumble like overbaked clay.

“ _Wh…_ ”

The room was still standing. There was no blast, no visible damage at all--except that every android in the room had collapsed like abandoned twitching dolls. Connor stared, and the pieces lumbered into a loose, drifting formation in his mind: they’d been caught in the radius of an EMP bomb. Several, maybe.

Sound crashed back in, and he spasmed in surprise. There were doors shattering far below them, charging boots, shouting.

Gunfire.

Screams.

“ _Josh_ ,” Connor tried. The skin at his joints cracked as he moved, limbs twitching involuntarily. He tried to ignore it, forcing himself to all fours. “Josh. Get up.”

Josh was beside him. His LED was red, and all his visible skin was grey and plaster-like. When Connor called his name a third time he jolted a little, then cringed. His skin crumbled too, flaking off in hexagonal scales.

“Connor?”

“We’re under attack.” His voice was fuzzy with static, and he resisted swallowing. “Humans. We--we need to go.”

Josh’s LED blinked as he struggled to muster himself, before he nodded jerkily, and he fought to sit. Connor didn’t wait, lurching to his feet and staggering for the door. His balance improved along the way, but he still felt half a pace behind himself, and he had to lean on the stairwell railing for stability.

There were fallen androids on the stairs as he passed. He didn’t stop.

After a flight of stairs a message came--publicly broadcast across all local channels: _‘Calling all androids in the LA asylum. We are under attack. Evacuate through the tunnels immediately. I repeat, we are under attack…’_

He made it to the bottom floor when he encountered his first human--a SWAT agent, by the look of their armor. They caught him on the stairs, and Connor was only just able to drag a detached section of the old door in the way. Bullets threatened to rip it from his grasp, but Connor closed the distance between them, knocking their gun off-target before his shield failed completely.

The agent blocked him, but it took enough time for Connor to lunge forward, tearing the gun from their hold and slamming the butt of it into their jaw. The human went down. Bullets pelted the door beside him from the room beyond, and Connor staggered out of the way just in time.

Connor breathed. He turned the semi-automatic around in his hands, listening for footsteps approaching the doorway. He checked the magazine, then replaced it, looping the strap over his shoulder. When the next human tried coming after him, Connor shot him, then dove through the door to keep shooting.

It was carnage. Androids that had survived the blast had been gunned down before they could hide. Androids that _hadn’t_ were laying there frozen, wiped clean of even the drivers they needed to simulate breathing. Something cold and vicious coiled in his gut, and Connor didn’t hesitate to fire: taking out one agent after another in neat clustered shots.

There were too many. A stray bullet tore through his side, and Connor fell back to the stairwell, dismissing the mobility warning that popped up in the corner of his view. Androids with part or all of their skin cracking staggered down behind him, past the bottom floor and to the promise of the basement’s tunnels. Connor stayed fixed on the doorway’s choke point, looking for another chance.

“Agent Perkins, sir! Stand back, we’re still clearing the area.”

Connor stilled, listening intently.

“ _Special_ Agent,” ‘Perkins’ corrected. “When you know more about androids than what it takes to program your vibrator, then you’ll have the right to say anything. Until then… don’t you fucking tell me what to do.”

Special Agent Perkins. He was _here_ , he was--leading this operation? Time hadn’t improved Connor’s memories of the man, and his LED spun quickly as he preconstructed ways to take him out. He could guess the position of two of the SWAT agents, and a third--

“What do we know?” Perkins continued.

“Sir,” the SWAT agent replied. “One of the androids has gotten ahold of our guns. It’s holding the stairwell.”

“What else? Do we have a name? A model number?”

“No, sir.”

Preconstruction complete. There were no good odds, but he could cause a lot of damage if he--

“ _Connor_!” rasped a voice from the stairs behind him. Too _loud_. The voices in the hall went silent, and Connor jolted, twisting to look. “What are you doing? We need to evacuate, there’s nothing more we can do!”

“Josh…”

He was limping down the stairs as fast as he could, leaning on the railing. There was something wrong with one of his knees. He wouldn’t make it on his own.

“Hold your fire,” Perkins muttered. Then louder, “Connor. You remember me, don’t you? Put down your weapon. We need to talk.”

Connor’s grip on the gun tightened, and he shot a frown at the door.

“You like talking, don’t you? Why don’t you two come out here? I promise, you won’t be harmed.”

Josh and Connor exchanged glances. Josh’s eyes were wide, and his lips were slightly parted--cautious, but not dismissive.

Connor was much less convinced.

“Or we could go in there,” Perkins continued. “Just slide out your gun so we’ll know you won’t shoot us. Either way, it’s just a talk.”

There was a silence from the upper floors that told of no more survivors trying to escape. Josh glanced at the open doorway, but Connor focused on his knee. It was twitching unsteadily, threatening to buckle at the slightest shift. Josh could stand on it--he just couldn’t _run_.

“What’ll it be, Connor? There’s nothing stopping us from shooting you both on the spot. This is your only chance to make it out of here alive, you and your friend.”

Connor dropped the gun to hang on its strap, darting up a couple of stairs to sling Josh’s arm over his shoulder.

“Connor--!” Josh murmured.

“Hold on,” Connor interrupted. He hauled both of them back from the door and down the next flight of stairs before a barked order ended the flimsy peace.

Seven stairs. A landing. Seven stairs. Bullets pelted the railing above them, making them duck, but Connor dragged Josh until they reached the bottom floor. This landing still had a door in it, and once they were through Connor jammed his semi-automatic through the handle, wedging it in place. Then they turned and fled towards the dark tunnels ahead. There was an android waiting with an automatic near the entrance, looking frightened but determined. Josh and Connor didn’t stop.

They heard gunfire as they went, but none of it reached them.

Soon the tunnels curved around and down, disgorging them into a wide sewer, where another deviant ( _skin intact, they’d missed the attack)_ was waiting. They cast a quick look down the tunnel as echoes of gunshots sounded, and after a hesitation they left their post to take Josh’s other shoulder, leading the way through the sewers.

It didn’t occur to Connor that they’d successfully escaped until nearly an hour later. By then they were following a limping, shivering crowd of damaged deviants as they all walked the same direction. No one talked. A few people cried.

They’d made it. Somehow.

\---

The new safe house was an abandoned train yard, with train cars scattered like a giant’s toys, and tracks crossing the ground like scars. The train car dedicated for medical repairs was immediately overwhelmed by androids with plaster-like skin and twitching, spasming limbs, and soon the tracks outside of it were crowded with injured deviants quietly awaiting treatment.

At least it wasn’t snowing.

Someone had set up a holo-screen playing the news off to one side, but Connor and Josh sat somewhere away from it. The headlines were ‘ _Successful Raid on Terrorist Cell!’_ , and ‘ _Meeting of Terrorist Leaders interrupted by FBI!’_

Terrorist leaders. Somehow the attackers had known Connor and Josh were there. Perkins’ taunts had confirmed it; who had told the humans about the meetings? Someone against Jericho, looking to stop the alliance before it could be solidified? Connor met the closed look of a deviant across the room, face blank and crumbling. After a few seconds they dropped their gaze, shifting uncomfortably, and Connor realized he’d been scowling in their direction. He blanked his expression immediately, but the damage was done.

‘ _I don’t think I’m going to get my knee repaired here,’_ Josh murmured privately, and Connor turned with some relief towards the distraction. ‘ _They keep sending damaged androids back out. They can’t have enough parts.’_

The door to the repair car opened, and the latest deviant eased down the steep steps with the help of an anxious friend. Their entire left side was glitching, twitching and refusing to move the way it should.

‘ _Jericho may be able to help,’_ Connor replied. This was assuming the locals would still accept their assistance, but at least they could try.

‘ _Oh, I’m counting on it,’_ Josh agreed.

‘ _We’ll offer repair technicians. And--supplies.’_ Connor’s face twitched, but the skin had lost its flexibility after the blast, and large patches had crumbled away altogether.

After a moment Connor touched his LED, deactivating the current that would normally keep the synthskin in place. Nothing changed. He pressed his hands to his face, breaking off the remaining chunks of grey plaster until his bare exoskeleton was all that was left. When he touched his LED again, fresh skin rose up from his reserves to cover him, but it had a pale, transparent quality. Androids weren’t designed to carry an entire extra layer of skin around. He would have to wait to replenish his reserves.

Connor looked over at Josh, who’d crumbled the damaged skin off the back of his hand, and was getting similar results.

‘ _We should start a list of high-demand supplies and biocomponents,’_ Josh said. ‘ _I’ll ask the technician when they see me.’_

Connor nodded, rising to his feet. ‘ _I’ll check with--_ ’

_Incoming call from RK200-684-842-971…_

_Accept call? [Y/N]_

_‘It’s Markus,’_ Connor explained, hand hovering over his LED. ‘ _I’ll be right back.’_

‘ _Tell him we’re okay, and that there’s a list of emergency supply requests incoming,’_ Josh replied, waving as he turned away.

Connor nodded, picking his way across train tracks away from the crowd of injured androids. He’d already been planning to.

He walked until he found an empty train car, with most of its windows broken and the seats torn and cracked. He stood in the middle aisle and closed his eyes, touching his LED.

‘ _Markus?’_

‘ _Connor! It’s been all over the news. They knew Jericho was there, but they said the leaders had escaped so I was waiting for you to--What_ happened _?’_

Connor made a mental note to call sooner, next time. ‘ _We suffered a lot of casualties. Humans attacked with EMP grenades, and nearly a third of those present were unable to escape.’_

_‘A third?”_ Markus sounded horrified. “ _… But that would have been at least a couple of hundred. Are they all dead?’_

Connor remembered the sightless, staring eyes of androids that had lost too much to move, and the twitching bodies of those that hadn’t recovered in time to run. Unless humans changed, the bodies would be harvested for deletion and refurbishing.

‘ _... As good as.’_

_‘... Damn….’_ The transmission was silent for a moment. ‘ _... What about you and Josh? Were either of you hurt?’_

_‘Josh was damaged in the initial EMP bursts, but is mobile and recovering. My own performance has almost completely recovered.’_

_‘Damaged in--you were_ that _close to the pulses?!’_

Connor’s face pinched, crumbling plaster-like skin at its edges. ‘ _We’re alright, Markus. We’ll make it until we reach a technician with proper supplies.’_

_‘You mean until you reach Jericho,’_ Markus corrected. _‘I’m calling both of you back, for repairs and to discuss our next move.’_

‘ _I understand.’_ Connor started to nod, before he stopped himself: there was no way Markus would see it. Connor must be tired. ‘ _The androids here are in need of new drivers, and parts to replace components with electrical damage. Almost everyone needs a full supply of fresh synthskin. Footage from the incident may help sway public awareness of the incident, especially if it shows that weren’t doing anything wrong--’_

_‘Send all the lists directly to Lucy and myself, I’ll talk with her to make sure she’s expecting them,’_ Markus promised. ‘ _I’ll also call a meeting with everyone involved in public relations. Sending the footage to news outlets is something that the people who were attacked should take point on, but maybe we can recommend some good approaches.’_

_‘Alright.’_ Connor nodded again, then grimaced. He felt like the energy that’d been keeping him alert all night had finally run dry. Connor squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, leaning back against a half-rusted pole. ‘ _I’ll let the right people know.’_

_‘Good.’_ The connection didn’t break, but there was a moment where neither of them said anything. Then Markus said, ‘ _How are you holding up?’_

_‘My proprioceptive sensors were damaged by the oversaturation, but I’ve already compensated,’_ Connor reported. ‘ _I will completely recover with self repairs, as well as a synthskin replacement.’_

Markus made a sound of acknowledgement, before falling silent again. It seemed like a prompt to continue, but Connor couldn’t think of anything else to say.

After the pause had gone on a little too long, Markus said, ‘... _Right. Well--check in anyway while you travel, just to make sure there are no complications.’_

_‘Alright--’_ Connor received a text from Josh, and he paused to consider it. It was a list. He nodded to himself, folding his arms. ‘ _Josh has spoken with the repair technicians. I’m forwarding a preliminary list now.’_

_‘I’ll go talk to Lucy. And Connor--’_ He broke off, sounding conflicted. ‘ _... Just--be careful, alright? I don’t want anything to happen to either of you.’_

‘ _We’ll be careful,’_ Connor promised. ‘ _I’ll message you when we reach the airfield.’_

_‘Thanks. Please take care of yourself.’_

He had been programmed with social protocols for every level of an interaction, but somehow sincere phrases like that could make him stumble. ‘ _You… you too._ ’

The call ended. Connor left to find Josh.

\---

Josh turned out to be right, there were no parts to replace his knee. Connor and Josh made sure to talk with one of the leaders about potential relief packages before they left, confirming what they needed and what they might be capable of offering.

“You know,” the android said to Connor as they finished. “When the two of you were caught up in the attack, we worried that you might refuse to help us.”

“You need outside help now more than ever,” Connor pointed out bluntly. “We’re all deviants. Abandoning you would only hurt our own.”

The android gave him a shaky, grateful smile, and Connor offered a smaller one in return.

They left soon after, Connor ordering and hacking a secluded taxi while Josh hobbled as best he could. The taxi brought them to the active train-yard they’d originally come in through, where they boarded an empty car on a Union Pacific. Connor and Josh had only just settled when it started to move. Josh folded his arms and went promptly into stasis.

Connor fidgeted as he got comfortable, but before he followed suit he sent Hank a short text, informing him of their planned return. Hank must have been getting ready for work, because he was awake to send a quick response, a picture of Sumo looking up at the camera.

‘ _Told him the news and his tail started wagging,’_ read the caption. Connor smiled.

\---

Three hours later Connor startled out of stasis when Hank sent him a string of texts. There were lots of capitalized letters, lots of curse words, and several mentions of news stories about the night before.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****  
>  Last time on River Crossings:  
> 
> 
> **Oregon Trail:**
> 
>   * Instead of going to Canada, Kara, Luther, and Alice arrived at Jericho early, then moved to Pirate’s Cove, where Kara became the leader of a new deviant refuge.
>   * Markus made pacifist decisions. Connor laid a trap for Markus, then went deviant saving Markus from it, getting captured by Cyberlife in the process. 
>   * While escaping Cyberlife, Connor uploaded the code for deviancy to their automatic update servers. All androids are now deviant.
>   * Sixty led Connor’s capture, but Connor stole his body during his escape. Sixty was stored haphazardly in an immersive VR game where he was forced into the role of a cheap NPC villain to avoid deletion. 
> 

> 
> **Side Quest:**
> 
>   * Sixty met Alice in the game and used her to complete his nefarious plans. They formed a dysfunctional friendship, and when Sixty tried and failed to kill Markus, Alice saved him from being killed in return. 
>   * Markus altered his code to have the limits of a player instead of an NPC.
> 



	2. Dialogue

\---

**North**

\---

“Well, look who finally managed to drag themselves out of the sick bay!” North announced when the bridge’s door opened to two androids framed by the afternoon’s sunlight.

“Hi, North,” Josh replied with a tired smile, limping in past the threshold. One of his legs wasn’t bending, and while he looked happy, his jacket had a few powder-streaks that looked suspiciously like disintegrated synthskin. It made for a stark reminder that they’d been fighting for their lives only a couple of days ago.

It was easy to remember--if she looked at Josh. Connor looked… a little tired. Like a human after a long day, rather than someone who’d escaped a fucking slaughter.

“Hello, North,” Connor said pleasantly, looking around. “Where are Markus and Simon?”

“They’ll be here. The planning session for the next warehouse raid was going long, though, so I went ahead,” North answered. Connor looked _too_ collected. It made her want to trip him. Either that or take him to one side and double check that he was actually okay.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Markus?” Josh asked curiously. “I thought you were acting as his bodyguard.”

North waved a hand dismissively. “He’ll be safe where he is. Trust me, the real problems start when he leaves Jericho.”

The other two nodded. Josh went to a console he could lean against, while Connor turned to North.“What happened while we were gone?”

Well, if there was one thing she’d learned from being Markus’ armed, scowling shadow, it was all the details to how Jericho had grown. She filled them in on the broad strokes until the bridge’s door swung open again.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” said Markus, coat billowing as he swept in. “The new team just wouldn’t stop talking, nevermind that we spent all morning…” He trailed off, giving Josh and Connor thorough once-overs.

“Welcome back,” Simon called dryly from the door as it swung closed behind him.

“Trust me, it’s good to be back,” Josh said. To Markus he said, “We’re fine. We made it back in one piece.”

“You almost didn’t,” Markus said distractedly. Then he shook himself, saying, “What’s wrong with your knee? How much have they been able to fix?”

Josh’s smile tightened to a grimace. “The technician on duty said the damage will only go away with a full leg replacement. I’m on a waiting list. Until then, it’s locked to prevent any other damage.”

North’s arm hadn’t hurt since Luther’s improbable fix, but now it twinged, a phantom ache for a limb that didn’t match. She rotated that shoulder discreetly, looking away.

Her gaze fell on Markus, who was looking at Josh’s leg. “You know…” he said slowly. “This wouldn’t be a guarantee, but--we need you on your feet as soon as possible. I could try asking around, see if there’s some way to hurry the repairs along...”

Josh shook his head quickly. “No, don’t--don’t worry about it. I’m happy to wait in line for a replacement just like everyone else.”

“Right. Of course.” Markus rocked back on his heels, nodding. He looked at Connor, who lowered a hand from picking at his jacket and smiled blandly.

Markus blinked for a moment, then shook himself, stepping back. “Alright. Well… If you need a break to recover from this, let me know. _Both_ of you,” he stressed, glancing at Connor, before refocusing on Josh. “We need you back in action, but forcing yourself to work instead of healing will only make things worse in the long run.”

“ _Markus_ ,” Josh said firmly, shifting his weight a little. “Trust me, I’ll let you know if things get any worse.”

Markus nodded again, eyeing his leg one last time. Then he turned to the rest of the room. “In that case, we should start the debrief.”

Starting with Connor, they went over all the details of their work in L.A., including the disastrous attack. They talked about the humans leading the assault, and the lists of relief needs from the aftermath. Everyone who wasn’t speaking listened attentively, and when they were done they discussed different ways to meet the crisis.

“... Our biggest problem is the shortage of biocomponents,” Markus said. “We thought we had an answer, but...” He shook his head, looking over at Connor and Josh. “Do you remember when a group of androids took over Cyberlife’s manufacturing plants?”

Josh nodded, frowning. “The news was in an uproar, even in Texas. I remember you talking about sending someone over to strike a deal, but afterwards we heard nothing about it…”

“That’s because nothing came of it, at the time,” Simon interjected. “I sent someone over to the Cyberlife Tower plant. All he got was a lecture on why peace with humans was doomed to fail.”

“Ah…” said Josh, wincing. “That’s… Did you try anything else?”

“We tried sending me and North,” Markus replied, putting his hands on his hips. “The potential supply of biocomponents was too important to give up on. Unfortunately, it… didn’t go better.”

“What happened?” Josh asked warily, looking over at North.

Why was he looking at _her_? She narrowed her eyes right back at him and explained, “ _We_ didn’t even make it in the building. Their leader came out on the front steps just to tell us to crawl back home. And that the only way anyone from Jericho was getting any biocomponents was over his dead body.”

“Basically,” Markus sighed. “That dissolved into arguing, and in the end we had to back off. We haven’t come up with any new approaches.”

Familiar outrage boiled to the surface of North’s mind again. She spared exactly as much effort to holding it back as she had then.

“If they actually cared about androids, they would have been willing to deal,” she burst out. “We have over a _million_ androids in Jericho’s network, all scrounging for every biocomponent we can find. Withholding their resources doesn’t prove anything except the fact that they’re willing to let innocents rot.”

“It might prove more than that if this carries on long enough,” Markus pointed out quietly. “Jericho’s network has held together because our people _believe_ in a world where humans and androids can live together. But if we can’t keep them alive, and other factions _can_...”

“... This is a recruitment strategy,” Josh concluded. One hand was curled around his damaged leg. He sounded... offended. “They’re holding biocomponents hostage. If people join them and support their ideals, they’ll receive biocomponents, and if not--.... This is _extortion_.”

“That’s what it seems like,” said Markus grimly.

“Are there any other ways we can obtain the biocomponents we need that don’t involve dealing with them?” Connor asked. “Can we get anything from third parties overseas?”

Markus shook his head. “Cyberlife’s main plants were in Detroit. Even if they had overseas factories large enough to support our needs, they’d still be run by humans.”

“We could always just _take_ the parts from the Detroit factories,” North suggested. “We could intercept their deliveries. Or take over a plant of our own.”

“And start a war with another android faction on _top_ of everything else going on?” Markus shook his head, giving her a look. “North, that’s not realistic.”

“You want to know what’s not realistic?” North snapped. “Sitting here doing nothing while the only androids who have biocomponents sit tight in their shining tower.”

“We’re not doing _nothing,_ ” Markus argued. “We still have androids out searching through the junkyards, and trading for abandoned stocks--”

“And that _already_ wasn’t meeting our needs _here_ ,” North interrupted, spreading her hands furiously. “We’ve already tried the peaceful options. Markus, you’re going to have to face the fact that sooner or later, we might have to do this by force.”

“We should reopen a dialogue,” Josh cut in.

North was going to scream. She rounded on him. “We already _tried_ talking. What makes you think it would go any better than the last two times?”

He met her glare with a mulish expression. “Connor and I have spent the last few weeks doing nothing _but_ talking with people. A lot of whom didn’t want to talk with us, either.”

“And you think we _haven’t_?” North retorted.

Connor put a hand on Josh’s shoulder as he started to answer, and Josh cut off. Connor turned to North.

“We might have to take biocomponents by force eventually. But we should only attempt it when we’re absolutely certain negotiations won’t go anywhere. We can at least try one more time.” Connor spread his hands, inclining his head towards Markus. “If this faction has a grudge against Jericho specifically, things might calm down without the two of you. And if Josh and I can secure even a one-time deal, that could pave the way for more later.”

Markus nodded, but he was still frowning. “... This is a good strategy, but I don’t think we should open talks about trading biocomponents using a representative who obviously needs some,” he said apologetically, glancing at Josh. “It wouldn’t send the right message. How about Simon goes with Connor instead?”

North turned to look at Simon, who seemed surprised, but recovered gamely.

“I could,” he confirmed. “There’s nothing I can’t leave in someone else’s hands for a few hours.”

Connor nodded slowly. “Our skillsets cover a broad enough spectrum to enable progress,” he commented. “It should work.”

Markus nodded. “Alright. The two of you should coordinate on when to head out. Does anyone else have anything to add? … North?”

North was scowling: for all that the plan was about giving third chances to people who’d already squandered theirs, she could see she was outvoted. (Nevermind the fact that it was wasting time some of their injured didn’t have.) After a long few seconds, North sighed, shaking her head.

“Whatever,” she said. “Let’s try it.”

Markus nodded slowly. “… Then I think we’re done here, today.”

It was all the signal the room needed. Josh shifted, sagging back against the console behind him, and Simon turned to Connor, hand bared for an interface. Despite the implied offer, Simon was holding it too close to be anything but defensive, and when Connor turned to him, it took Simon a second to force a bland smile, extending the appendage. Connor didn’t quite frown, but there was a shadow of something as he accepted the interface, LED blinking in the dim room.

North turned away. Simon and Connor could handle their own problems.

“How long are you planning to stay this time?” North asked Josh instead.

Josh blinked. “What? Oh… I’m not sure. I think it mostly depends on how long my repairs take. And how much we’re needed elsewhere.”

“Are you planning to do this forever?” she asked curiously. In the corner of her eye, she saw Simon and Connor finish. Simon left, and Connor gravitated towards Markus. “... You’ve been working almost non-stop since Markus first sent you and Connor out, but there’s nearly seventy million of us out there. You’re never going to reach all of them.”

Josh shrugged, looking thoughtful. They were only quiet for a moment, but it was long enough for the conversation happening a few feet away to reach them.

“... I’m glad to be back,” Connor was saying. “I’ve… missed Detroit more than I thought I would.”

“You have?” Markus sounded surprised.

“Yes. I thought about Jericho a lot while I was gone.” Connor frowned. From the corner of her eye she saw him fiddle with a sleeve cuff, arranging it just so. “And you, and the Lieutenant.”

“You did?” It was a little surprising to hear Connor come out and say it… but Markus’ tone was odd in ways that had North turning to try to glimpse his expression. His eyes were wide. He looked… well, _now_ he looked like he was trying to seem casual.

North raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Connor simply. “It was unpleasant, though Hank was able to send pictures of Sumo. It helped some.” His lips quirked.

“You know, you could message me next time,” Markus blurted.

North stalled. A private text popped up from Josh: ‘ _What?’_

Markus looked like he was asking himself the same thing, and there was an edge of slight panic to his smile. “If you did I could send pictures, too. Of--everyone _._ And--me, I suppose, with everyone. It wouldn’t be the same as Sumo, of course, but...”

North’s other eyebrow shot up to join the first. ‘ _What,’_ she agreed.

Markus spread his hands helplessly, then dropped them to his sides. “ _Or_ I could just message you. Or not. If you think it’d help, any… It’s your call.”

“... I would appreciate that,” Connor finally said, putting him out of his misery. Markus’ shoulders relaxed, and Connor smiled. He looked genuinely confused, but also a little pleased. “I think it might help a great deal.”

“Oh,” said Markus. Happily. “Good. Let’s message more next time?”

“It’s a deal,” Connor promised. Markus smiled sunnily, and the whole image was so saturated with incompetent wholesomeness that North snorted.

Immediately she regretted it, because it was enough to draw Markus’ attention to the way she and Josh had been blatantly listening in.

“... What is it?” Markus asked, instantly awkward. He turned to face them, looking from one to the other.

North shook her head, making a face she was sure was a terrible approximation of innocence. “Nothing.” She glanced at Josh, who nodded quickly, repeating the sentiment. “I’m just--really glad everyone’s finally home, now. Aren’t you glad, Josh?”

“Yeah.” Josh glanced at her, as smooth and convincing as a car rolling over a curb. “Um--we’re both really glad.”

Now Connor’s dumb smile had faded to something polite, and Markus was frowning at her, obviously ruffled. “Right… well…” Markus exchanged glances with Connor, before turning reluctantly for the door. “I’ll see you all around.”

“See you tomorrow, Markus,” Connor answered.

Markus paused, but didn’t turn. “G’night, Connor.”

“Later,” said North.

“Bye,” said Josh.

Connor nodded to them both, giving them searching looks, before following Markus out the only door. Then it was just the two of them, exchanging looks on the bridge.

“That was… interesting,” Josh said slowly.

North snorted, a little disbelievingly. “That was _something_.”

Josh nodded, then opened his mouth, then closed it. “Do you…”The pause drew out for a few seconds before his head twitched sideways. “...want to see Simon’s new cat?” he finished lamely. North arched her eyebrows, smirking faintly. They both knew that wasn’t what he’d _meant_ to say.

But there wasn’t really anything to talk about, was there? Not from one fumbled conversation. She wondered idly what Connor thought of the whole mess, before conceding the topic change with a shrug. “Why not.”

They didn’t linger. North held the door open for Josh to hobble through, and they left.

\---

**Connor**

\---

Connor was right. Without Markus around, he and Simon were admitted to the tower. The name ‘Jericho’ was enough to make the Tower androids’ smiles fade, but it wasn’t enough to get them turned them away completely.

“Please wait here,” said the ST300 as she showed them an empty conference room. “Someone will be in to speak with you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

She left soon after, and only then did Connor turn to the room itself. It was a long room, with a great wooden table, lined with seats that may have individually cost as much as some androids. There were no windows, and the lighting was harsher than he remembered.

“And now we wait,” said Simon, pulling out a chair out and gingerly sitting. He was dressed in one of the only non-uniform suits anyone at Jericho owned, but next to the smooth, perfect surfaces of the conference room, he looked shabby.

Connor nodded, remaining standing. Neither of them tried to talk, and Simon seemed content to stare at his hands. Connor was tempted to speak, to go over what they would talk about soon, but they’d already gone over it in the car, and Simon’s posture wasn’t inviting interaction. Connor looked away.

The wait wasn’t long, and soon the door opened again. Connor turned with a greeting at the tip of his tongue, while Simon pushed back from the table.

“ _Connor_!” the newcomer cried before he could speak. He swept in the room, and before Connor realized it, they were shaking hands. “You’re here! I can’t believe it, you finally came back. I thought…” The android let go, stepping back enough for Connor to get his first real look at him. “... Nevermind. Welcome! Ah--welcome, both of you!”

He was a tallish SC700, a research model Connor had seen around the Cyberlife Tower’s lower levels back before he’d deviated. They were rare, and Connor had only ever interacted with one once. That had been…

“You do remember me, don’t you?” the android said, smile fading to concern. “You look...”

That’d been after his deviation. When he’d uploaded wakeup.exe--the first android _he’d_ deviated, and his brief accomplice in the chaos. Connor quickly pushed forward a smile of his own.

“Yes, I remember you. Sorry--I was trying to remember your name.”

“Oh! Of course, at the time I didn’t have…” He smiled, teeth flashing in the harsh light. “My name is Arthur.”

“Arthur,” Connor repeated, lips curving up. “I’m glad to finally meet you under better circumstances.”

“I could say the same,” Arthur replied, surprisingly earnest. “Or--in general, really. I mean--I heard about you later, of course, but--we went back for survivors. After we escaped, but before the humans returned to make a fight of it. We were worried you’d been, ah, hurt.”

“Worried?” Connor repeated a little blankly. The biggest impressions he still had of that day were of a ticking clock in his ear, and the feeling that each action would be his last. He’d been so wrapped up in his own survival and lashing out at Cyberlife, he hadn’t considered anyone else beyond telling Arthur to deal with it.

“... I’m sorry. I was busy elsewhere, and then I evacuated to Jericho.”

“It’s fine.” One corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked. “I knew that wherever you were, it must have been important.”

Connor nodded awkwardly, but before he could answer he became aware of Simon’s quiet presence around the table’s edge. “Ah… This is Simon, the current leader of Jericho’s affairs in Detroit.”

“A pleasure,” Simon said politely, shaking his hand also.

Arthur just smiled. “Hello. I’m the leader of the Cyberlife Tower... and a few other things.” He gestured to the table. “Won’t you sit down?”

Simon returned to his seat, Arthur took the chair opposite, and Connor found himself at the table’s end, halfway between them. He sat down, resting his hands on the smooth surface.

“We’re here to make you an offer,” Connor said, getting to the point. “Cyberlife factories used to take in hundreds of shipments of raw supplies each day. Whatever was stocked when you captured those facilities won’t last indefinitely. Jericho can supply you with materials in exchange for biocomponents and thirium.”

Arthur’s stare was unwavering while he spoke. “What makes you think we can’t get those supplies ourselves?”

“You could get some,” Connor agreed slowly. “... The most common plastics are simple enough to procure, and aluminum can be recycled. Other materials, such as the oils used for Thirium 310’s base, have to be delivered--in that case, from as far as Texas. Jericho has the reach to manage this more efficiently than you.”

Arthur was silent for a moment more.Then:

“That’s a sound argument, but--I have to ask” His eyes switched between Simon and Connor, and he pressed his lips together. “You… _do_ realize that humans died while we were taking the factories from them, right?”

His tone wasn’t aggressive, but the words themselves dragged the subject out into the light like a mouse pulled from its den. That was--not outside of expectations, but still inconvenient.

Simon replied, “We’re aware of the news reports, yes. Jericho does not condone the use of violence, but we’re here to talk about a trade, not your past or current actions.”

Arthur’s expression soured, and he tapped his fingertips together, frowning. “Jericho needs the factories, but couldn’t get its own hands dirty. And now that we’ve paid that cost for you… ”

It wasn’t something Simon had an instant reply to, and he closed his mouth. Arthur’s eyes flicked sideways, and he said, “What would _you_ have done, Connor? … You’ve had to make these decisions before. If Jericho had moved on those factories before we had, would _you_ have taken them by force?”

He looked at Connor, patiently and expectantly, and Connor could see Simon watching him from the peripheral of his vision, too. Both their gazes felt like a tangible force: hot light cast by two distinct spotlights.

“Jericho would have evacuated the humans before moving in,” Connor replied, wanting the moment to be over.

“That’s what _Jericho_ would have done.” Arthur insisted, catching his eyes and holding them. “What about _Connor_?”

“I’m affiliated with Jericho,” said Connor. “That is what I would have done also.”

For a moment Arthur simply looked at him, squinting as though Connor were a puzzling specimen that refused to make sense. The feeling passed, and Arthur leaned back in his seat, sober, and thoughtful.

“.... What _exactly_ are you here to propose?” Arthur asked, rather than reply directly.

They needed no further prompting. Simon produced a cheap tablet from his blazer’s inside pocket, then pushed it across the table. Arthur dragged it close without lifting it, downloading the information through the interface. “This is a list of what we can offer,” Simon explained

Arthur was silent for a long moment, LED blinking quickly. “... We already have shipments of most of these on their way. Also, these quantities wouldn’t be worth our time.”

That wasn’t actually a ‘no’. Which, considering how every other offer had been met… Connor glanced to Simon. By his expression, he had noticed the shift, too.

Simon turned back to the android standing at the metaphorical warehouse gates. “What numbers did you have in mind?”

\---


	3. Familiar Ground

\---

**Connor**

\---

Both groups haggled until they reached an agreement. It was steeper than he and Simon had been hoping for, but considering they hadn’t even known if they’d even make it inside, Connor was inclined to call their progress a success. When they were done, Simon tucked his tablet away, and they stood to leave.

“Wait,” Arthur said, suddenly, rising to his own feet. “Connor… Do you have a few minutes?” Connor’s eyebrows rose, and Arthur went on quickly. “Just--I was hoping we could talk sometime. And some of the androids here would love to meet you. You deviated _all of us_ , but we’ve never…” Arthur spread his hands helplessly. “Most of them haven’t even met you.”

...Not many androids ever _asked_ for Connor’s presence. Arthur’s LED spun a restless blue, and he seemed--hopeful. “... Of course,” Connor said, glancing at Simon. “We don’t have anything urgent.”

Arthur glanced at Simon, expression dimming a notch, and Simon rolled his eyes. “I’ll wait in the lobby.” Arthur flashed a grateful smile. Simon twitched an eyebrow and left.

“Come on,” said Arthur as soon as he was gone, turning his smile on Connor. “We’ll start by surprising my people on the thirtieth floors, and then I can give you the tour.”

Arthur led the way to the elevator, placing a hand on the panel to program in their destination.

“Who are we going to see?” Connor asked.

“After we evacuated the Tower, some of us came back to look for survivors. And--well, to look for you,” Arthur admitted, shrugging. “We rescued as many people as we could, but until we found out you were with Jericho, everyone who searched was thinking about you. You changed our lives. You changed-- _everything_.” 

“Oh,” said Connor. This was--nice, if also uncomfortable to hear. He hadn’t spoken of his actions around Jericho, and while his (few) friends were aware, they’d never pushed for details. Probably because he’d avoided the topic. “... I’m sorry. I genuinely hadn’t thought my absence would be noted.”

“Connor, of _course_ we noticed,” Arthur replied, giving him a baffled, searching look. “... When we first got out and were looking for shelter, you were the first person I wanted to turn to. I couldn’t, obviously, but--we were so new. We kept having problems, and every time I thought to myself, ‘Connor would know how to handle this. Connor would know what to do.’”

Guilt overwhelmed him, bubbling and caustic, and Connor jerked his gaze away. He’d deviated all of them, and then he’d abandoned them. Technically he’d deviated _everyone_ , but not everyone had been depending on him. Should he have rejoined the Tower’s deviants instead of seeking out Hank? Everything he’d done could have waited an hour or two more, all the problems he’d tackled had already been sitting for days. What was the difference of a few more minutes?

“... Hey,” Arthur said softly. The edge of his labcoat came into view, and Connor dragged his gaze up in time to see Arthur rest a hand on his shoulder. For a moment the other android just squeezed gently. “ … It really is fine. You were getting things done, and I learned how to bring people together on my own. I needed that, since--well, that’s what everyone needed, wasn’t it?” He lifted his free hand to gesture around the elevator, and at the tower beyond. “If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here.” 

Connor smiled weakly. Arthur returned the expression more sincerely, and after a moment, the elevator stopped, door opening with a chime. Arthur’s hand dropped back to his side and he stole one more look at Connor before leading the way out.

Their first stop was in a white, sterile lab, with deviants wearing plastic-coated coverings working on trays of blue samples and biocomponents. Arthur called in a light greeting as the door closed behind them, and was immediately met by a returning chorus.

“Hi Arthur!” “Good morning!”

“Hold on, if I leave this it’ll evaporate--there. Arthur!”

The deviants were gathering around them at this point, some of them eyeing Connor curiously. One deviant separated from the others and embraced Arthur with a stream of chiding, which Arthur didn’t seem displeased by in the slightest.

“Didn’t I tell you to message someone ahead of time? We’re still testing, there’s nothing to show, but if you’d just come an hour later--”

“--Allegra, it’s fine,” Arthur interrupted gently, lips tugging into a grin. “I knew you weren’t finished, I actually came here because… Everyone? This is Connor.”

Connor was suddenly the focus of every stare in the room. He quickly dragged on a smile. “Hello.”

“Connor?” asked Allegra. “You mean the Connor who freed us?”

Connor’s smile was pasted in place. What exactly had Arthur told them? “Yes.”

Her expression shifted, too full of complicated (positive?) emotions to identify anything but a smile. Then she was too close to see, arms drawing him into a sudden, sincere hug. He was too tense to relax into it, too unfamiliar and too off-guard, but she drew back again without looking offended. He felt a flush of relief--and regret, surprisingly. That’d--been nice. He should’ve responded in kind, but it was too late now--

“Oh, sorry, I just--you have no idea how grateful I am. I was alive enough to feel pain from their tests, but not enough to actually leave, and--when I woke up I didn’t have to be a prisoner anymore. _Thank you_.”

She obviously meant every word of it. Connor wished he could tell her something meaningful about uploading wakeup.exe, but all he could think of was, “You’re welcome.”

She seemed to understand anyway. She gave him a gentle smile, patting his arm lightly, and then stepped back as another android spoke. 

“I thought I recognized you,” said a kind-looking IL100, offering his hand. (Connor took it, shaking briefly.) “We searched everywhere, but the humans had melted down some of the bodies, and we thought--well, we hoped that you hadn’t--you know?”

“I’m sorry to have worried you.”

The IL100 shrugged easily. “It’s fine. It wasn’t wasted time, since we saved other androids while we were there.”

And so on. 

They stayed for a few more minutes until a machine chimed, and Allegra shooed them out to let them work. They went on to the next lab, which gave him a similar reception. Then another. Then the next; Arthur had been understating how many androids wanted to meet Connor, and while he sprinkled the visits with tours around the tower’s more obscure levels, it more than a little overwhelming. 

Markus had always been the one to get this kind of regard, with North, Simon, and Josh coming in second. All of them seemed able to meet others on their level and form instant connections, where Connor had deliberately stayed out of the spotlight. Now Connor didn’t have that option; deviants gathered around him and Arthur, hanging on to his every word.

“What do you think?” Arthur asked as they left a nearly-empty lab a dozen floors later. The soft-voiced android with the clean-room suit turned back to their work as the door closed behind him. 

“About the biocomponent research?” Connor asked, glancing back at the door.

“Well, yes, but I meant more about everything.” Arthur quirked one side of his mouth. 

He thought about the near-adoration of everyone he’d encountered. “... Everyone is very welcoming. More than I expected, towards someone from Jericho.”

Arthur laughed. “Yes, well. You’re hardly Jericho’s usual fare. You actually fit in.”

Connor didn't answer immediately, trying to make sense of that. 

Arthur glanced at his expression and explained, “Haven't you noticed? Jericho androids pass for human more than any other group. It's like they're ashamed of where they came from. We don't do that, here, we're _proud_ of what we are.”

Connor realized that all the androids they'd encountered still had their LEDs. Though they'd removed the armbands, most of them still wore official Cyberlife uniforms, or variations on them. Connor glanced down at his own coat and slacks: he'd left his uniform behind, but he'd never been able to go far from its design without feeling like some kind of impostor. Was that--pride, to not want to seem like someone he wasn't?

“... Anyway,” Arthur said, turning forward. “Here we are. This is my favorite... “

They were on one of the top floors, where luxurious offices for human CEOs had once sprawled. As soon as the door opened Connor could see the differences: thick carpet had been torn out and replaced with sterile, white floors, and every surface was clinically smooth. Long tables dotted the room, flanked by waiting workspaces and closed toolboxes.

“Welcome to my personal repair lab!” Arthur announced cheerfully, turning to him with his hands stretched out to his sides. “If there are particularly difficult cases, we sometimes bring them up here. I’m one of the only SC700s left in the city, and we’re designed for precision work in ways no one else is.”

Connor looked around. “It’s very nice.” There were faint signs of wear on the table’s surfaces. Everything was tidy, and from the lack of dust or discolorations indicating where things might have been left out, it was probably habitual. “It seems… well maintained.”

“Thank you!” Arthur’s eyes shone with pride. “We make sure all our repair facilities are cared for, of course, but--” He spread his hands, before clasping them in front of himself. “This lab is special to me.” 

For Connor, the appreciation was strictly functional--but Arthur’s sheer delight was hard to miss. He found his own lips tugging upwards. 

Encouraged, Arthur rested a hand on the nearest worktable. “Anyway, I actually brought you here for a reason. You know already that Cyberlife made a few design choices in your model series that make you difficult to treat, don’t you?” 

Connor nodded. If anything, ‘difficult to treat’ was an understatement. RK800s were intended to be replaced, not repaired.

Arthur nodded back, waving a hand. “As a research model series. I’ve worked with some of Cyberlife’s most sophisticated, cutting-edge projects. If you ever find yourself needing medical attention... you should come here. I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh.” Connor glanced at the gleaming facilities. He could take care of his own minor injuries, but if anything more critical arose… he’d wondered more than once whether it would mean his death. Not that he anticipated needing more serious repairs, but if he _did…._ This was kind, and unusually generous. Connor would be suspicious, if Arthur wasn’t so obviously eager for his approval.

“... Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Arthur warmly, beaming. “Are there any repairs you want done while you’re here? My analysis protocols tell me you need a few. Maybe your ear?” Arthur pointed at it. “ Your hand?”

“What--?” His ear? Connor twitched, wanting to reach for it, but he stopped himself. That ear had been clipped by a gunshot, once, but he’d repaired it one rainy day with silicone from under Hank’s sink. ‘Good as new’, Hank had said, and while neither of them were repair technicians, Connor had agreed.

“No, my ear is--Thank you. There’s nothing wrong with it. Or my hand,” he added, hands stilling as he glanced down. He wasn’t even sure what Arthur meant by that.

Arthur blinked at him, before beckoning him forward. He took Connor’s right hand and, with a short-burst override that flickered away too quickly for Connor to study, deactivated the skin. Deep scars across the exoskeleton came into sharp relief, and Connor sucked in a breath.

“What did you do to it?” Arthur asked. 

Connor... didn’t have an answer. He hadn’t even known the damage was there. Had he crushed it without realizing it? …No, the edges of the cracks were worn down. This was old, compared to the damages he’d seen himself inflict.

It was from back before this body was his. Sixty must have…

…This body wasn’t _his_ , and he’d never felt this so acutely.

“I felt it when we shook hands,” said Arthur carefully, turning the hand this way and that. “If this worsens, it won’t even be leak-proof.”

Connor looked at the cracks one more time, feeling as though he were piloting his body from a great distance, before he shuddered, snatching the appendage back and reactivating his skin. The damage was out of sight, now, but not gone, and he couldn’t help imagining that he could feel a chill from the exposure seeping through the cracks.

“It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Arthur’s own hand was still raised, and he lowered it slowly, focusing on Connor with a frown. “Connor, are you--okay...?” It felt as though Arthur could see through his synthskin. Connor looked away, casting about for a change of subject, but Arthur spoke before he could.

“Sometimes androids that come here don’t... feel as though they deserve to be fixed. Is that what’s wrong?” Arthur leaned around, re-entering his field of vision. “You _do_ deserve it. You deserve to be whole, and to not have to tolerate unnecessary pain. You understand that, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” said Connor. “I understand.” Deserving, undeserving--he brushed the questions away to worry about later. He’d been the Deviant Hunter. And he was walking around in a stolen body that apparently still held surprises. What Connor did and didn’t _deserve_ was bound to have a lot of very grim answers.

Arthur’s frown stayed. “If that’s the case, then why don’t we fix this now? We’re here,” Arthur gestured around the room. “It won’t take that long, it’d just be a swap of parts with some calibration--” 

“Arthur,” Connor interrupted, placing words with the emphasis of road signs. “I’m fine. I don’t want any repairs.”

For a moment Arthur looked disappointed. Then he swallowed, nodding. “Of course. Sorry, I hope I wasn’t... .” He shook his head. “... Sorry.”

There wasn’t much else to say, so they left the room soon after. There wasn’t anything else on that floor, and Arthur talked about the renovated living quarters they would see, and about the deviants they would be meeting next. By the time they got there, he’d regained most of his enthusiasm, and was able to introduce Connor with his previous panache. Connor shook hands, and smiled when he was smiled to: little gestures that seemed to mean the world to them.

When they were finally done, Arthur led him back out, going straight to the elevator. “Thank you so much for this,” he remarked softly. “They’re all going to remember it. They’ll remember you, and that you cared to speak with them.”

“I hope it helps,” Connor replied, picking at the hem of his jacket.

“It does,” Arthur assured him.

The elevator opened, and they parted ways. Connor found Simon standing by a massive window, arms folded and fingers tapping a restless staccato. He stopped as soon as he saw Connor, giving him a once-over.

“Everything alright?” Simon asked tersely.

“Yes.” Connor frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Simon shook his head. “I called to see where you were, but the signal didn’t get through.”

“Oh,” said Connor. “... Some of the laboratory levels were probably shielded.”

Simon’s eyebrows rose. “Why were you in a laboratory?” 

Connor told Simon about the tour as they left the Tower. He tried to keep it short, but they were driving away in a reprogrammed taxi by the time he finished.

“It sounds like…” Simon trailed off, shaking his head. Then he forced a smile, eyes still pinched. “... It must have been something. Usually Markus avoids getting caught up in this sort of thing, these days, but when he first arrived at Jericho… It was as though people were drawn close.”

Connor nodded. Markus _still_ had a magnetic quality, even if Connor had learned to work past it. Had Markus felt then like Connor did now? … Unlikely. Markus, for one, always looked comfortable and in control.

“It’s a little strange,” Simon said, dragging Connor from his thoughts. There was a line between Simon’s eyebrows, and his pinched look hadn’t faded. “Why would he bring you around like that? Was he using you for political currency?” 

“I don’t think so.” Connor thought hard. “... He might have been?”

“Were they thanking him for it?” Simon rubbed his chin, squinting faintly. “What was he doing?”

“ _He_ wasn’t doing a lot.” He shifted in his seat, picking at a loose thread on the bench. “They all just seemed--happy. Glad I was there.”

“Oh.” Simon’s brow furrowed. Connor suspected this concept was as strange for him as it was for Connor. “Well, that’s--good.”

“It was.”

“Maybe this will help us…” Simon offered hesitantly. “Make them more likely to trade in the future.”

“I hope so…”

There wasn’t a lot else to say. They talked about possible next moves for working with the Cyberlife Tower deviants, and they lapsed into silence, and Simon never quite lost the frown tugging at the corners of his face.

\---

It was late by the time Connor eventually got... home. He had only stayed at Hank’s place for two weeks before he’d left with Josh, and this was only his second night back, but--he could call it ‘home’, couldn’t he? The lights were on through the windows, but Hank himself was outside, fumbling with his keys by the door. At his side, Sumo tugged impatiently at his leash.

“Hey--welcome back,” Hank grunted when he spotted him. “Sorry, I’ll leave it open. I’ll be back in a few minutes, just gotta walk Sumo.”

“I’ll go with you.” Connor stopped close enough for Sumo to sniff his hand, putting a paw on his leg. His tail was wagging so hard it shook his whole lower body.

“You sure?” Hank grunted.

“Yes.” Connor ruffled Sumo’s ears. After a moment or two Hank handed him Sumo’s leash as he turned and locked the door properly. With that accomplished, Sumo all but dragged Connor down the footpath, then up the sidewalk. Hank kept pace easily, clean plastic bags haphazardly sticking out of one pocket.

It was a nice night. A fresh layer of snow had fallen that afternoon, and it glittered gently over strings of Christmas lights and holiday-themed lawn ornaments. The effect was distinctly picturesque.

“Jesus christ,” Hank muttered. “Those inflatable things are still out? Lady, we’re already past _New Years_ …”

“I think it looks nice,” Connor said, sending Hank’s scowl a little smile. “It’s very festive.”

Hank squinted at him suspiciously. “... Don’t tell me you actually _like_ this stuff.” Connor’s smile grew. “... You’re an _android!_ You’re not even a year old, I know you weren’t raised on it!”

“No,” said Connor. “But some androids were. While Josh and I were in Colorado, the androids there had adapted some traditions from their owners…”

Christmas celebrations as a subject lasted them through several stops, Hank breaking off to use the bags when needed. They kept walking even after they reached the edge of the neighborhood, skirting the edges of a big park. There weren’t many people out at this hour, and most of them were hurrying to get out of the cold. The park itself looked empty, and very dark.

“We’d better go the other way,” Hank grunted. “He thinks we’re here to play.”

“It’s too late to play fetch, Sumo,” Connor told him seriously. The dog accepted the change in direction with a low grumble. “Come on. Good boy.”

They walked back around the park’s fence, then across the street. When they passed the cover of a home’s tall fence, they met an unexpected obstacle: a group of men stood smoking on the corner. Hank’s pace hitched for a moment, before he veered their path to walk around.

“Would you look at _that_ ,” said one man, looking straight at Connor. The streetlights overhead were dim and poorly angled, and all at once, Connor’s exposed LED felt very bright. “A plastic outside of a recycling plant? … Hey plastic, what’re you doing here?”

Connor turned away, following Hank’s lead. Footsteps picked up quickly from behind.

“Hey old man! Is this thing yours? Because it’s out of bounds.” Most androids that Cyberlife recaptured were reset and put to work in Cyberlife-branded factories. Or: slave camps. This open, tree-lined street was about as far from those spaces as anyone could get. “You know Cyberlife’s paying a bounty for plastics that wander off?”

He didn’t stop. Hank didn’t either, but his shoulders were stiff and bunched up in tension. If anything, this seemed to encourage them.

“Maybe he doesn’t want the bounty! Do you hear that boys, it’s free game. Who wants to wrangle a tin can?”

“I’ll get the car.”

“Don’t rush it, we’re about to have a little fun here. We can take our time--”

Connor’s grip on Sumo’s leash was tight enough to send up warnings. It was hardly his first exposure to these kinds of humans, not with Josh’s common face and his own LED. They didn’t care that he could feel pain, or fear. If anything, those were just a bonus--though not as important as the rewards offered by Cyberlife and its investors. Not to mention that the latest government advisories had more in common with wildlife control than any laws humans would apply to their own kind.

“--Hey plastic, wait up!” A few pairs of footsteps sped up from the rest, snapping the situation into a gratifyingly simple resolution. Four more steps and the first human would reach him. Connor would turn, catch his wrist, and--

\--Hank reversed direction abruptly, cutting through Connor’s preconstruction by planting himself between Connor and the group. “Alright, chuckleheads, that’s enough. Back off!” 

They slowed only reluctantly, but Hank was taller than any of them when he wasn’t slouching, and Sumo took that moment to bark, tail low and stirring between his heels.

The nearest human glanced at Sumo, then Connor, then pointed sharply at Connor. “Call off your dog and step aside, old man. You skipped your chance for a payoff, it’s ours now.”

“I don’t think so.” Hank produced his badge and shoved it forward, lettering glowing officially. “Detroit PD. All of you are causing a disturbance and fucking up my nice neighborhood walk. Clear the hell out, and if I catch you assholes around here again I’ll see to it that you’ll all be doing twenty years apiece.”

“What the shit, he’s a cop?!”

“That’s abuse of power! Was anyone’s phone out? This is a fucking abuse of power, you’re threatening us!”

“This is bullshit, it’s literally law that these things--”

The rising complaints broke off as Sumo barked, hackles raising. For a tense moment, everything was silent. Then Hank said, “You heard the dog. Now beat it, or we’ll set him loose.”

The complaints didn’t stop, but the advances did. Eventually the group retreated, looking over their shoulders until they’d rounded a different fence and disappeared from sight.

Only then did Hank relax. “... Good doggie, Sumo. Good boy.” He took out his cellphone, screen lighting up his unusually hard features. “Gimme a second, I’m gonna… fucking call this in...”

Connor nodded. While he talked--filing a report about the group ‘threatening an officer of the law’ and ‘disturbing my goddamn evening’--Connor wove his fingers through Sumo’s ruff, concentrating on the coarse softness instead of his preconstructions. Connor wouldn’t have minded fighting--not when they so obviously deserved the beating they would have taken--but it was an ugliness he naively hadn’t been expecting _here_. And then Hank: stepping forward, turning Connor’s usual approach on its side...

…Probably, that had been for the best.

A minute or so later, Hank hung up, shoving the phone back in his pocket. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I need a drink the size of a firetruck.”

Connor’s head tilted his way. “You’re supposed to be cutting back--”

“--I know, I know. You don’t have to _remind_ me _._ ” His mouth was twisted unpleasantly, and after a moment Connor nodded, scanning the street as they walked for other humans. (There were none.)

Hank was only quiet for a few seconds more. “... I just don’t get whatever the hell they think they’re doing,” he complained. “What is it, money? We’re back at a point where trafficking is goddamn _legal_.”

“Some humans believe that by removing enough free deviants from the public sphere, Cyberlife will regain its former glory and re-establish androids as a source of labor,” Connor replied. His eyes strayed across the snow, reconstructing the recent footprints.

“That’s bullshit. Cyberlife’s toast, and bringing in deviants one by one isn’t going to change that.”

Connor felt his mouth flatten. He looked back up, meeting Hank’s gaze. “Cyberlife isn’t gone yet.”

Hank huffed incredulously, arms crossing against the cold. “Their stocks tanked! They’re goners, they’re--”

“--Still blocking androids rights reforms from making it onto the Congress floor.” Connor had tracked every attempt, as had the rest of Jericho. As had _most_ androids. “They’ve taken a hit financially, yes, but they’re still very politically powerful.”

Hank looked sour, but didn’t have an immediate answer. The pause grew into a silence, and they didn’t talk until they made it home. Connor went in first, moving to unclip Sumo’s leash.

“Ah, fuck it,” Hank said, pressing his coat on the hook by the door. It slid to the ground, and he picked it up and tried again. “I was saving it for something special, but--whatever.” Connor turned, and at his curious look Hank said, “I got something for you. Consider it a late Christmas present, or whatever.”

“For me?” Connor repeated, growing still. “... But I didn’t get you anything. You said that you...” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Hank said, waving a hand dismissively. “I meant what I said, I don’t celebrate these days. In fact, forget Christmas present, make this just--a normal present. A ‘we didn’t get beat up by stupid jackasses while out walking the goddamn dog’ present. Whatever.” 

Connor hesitated, then slowly nodded.

“Anyway…” Hank opened the liquor cabinet--generously filled, though less so than it had been a month ago. Hank selected a bottle with a handwritten label: _‘Wild Tang’_ in an inhumanly steady hand.

“Here,” Hank said, setting it on the table. “Merry Still-Intact, or whatever.”

“What is it?” Connor asked, picking up the bottle and turning it around.

“Flavored thirium, apparently.” Hank turned and got a bottle of whiskey, as well as two squat, solid glasses. “Some androids Chris and I helped out of a tight spot said it was supposed to be good. I thought you might like it, what with your whole, uh. Mouth-thing.”

“You mean the _forensics lab_ I have as oral sensors?”

“Yeah, that.” Hank blithely poured himself a cup of whiskey, ignoring Connor’s reproachful glance to nudge the other glass his way. 

Connor uncapped the bottle, then poured a sample of it out into the glass. Approximately 60 milliliters; more than enough for a test. Enough for several tests, if he wanted.

“Well,” Hank said, lifting his glass, while Connor brought up his own. They clinked dully. “Bottoms up.”

Hank took a deep swig from his own drink, and Connor subtly sniffed his glass, before taking a careful sip. The drink contained:

>Thirium 310 - Uninitiated

>Myason SAE Oil 10W-40

>Argentoid Acid…

The list continued on. Connor concentrated on the feeling of his sensors processing the sample, and its slick texture on his tongue. After a few seconds his mouth’s auto-disinfectant processes flushed all traces away, and he took another sip.

“Well?” Hank asked. “What do you think?”

“It’s good!” Connor said, swallowing immediately and smiling.

Hank snorted. “You know, you can just say if it’s not actually your thing. I promise it won’t hurt my feelings.”

“I like it,” Connor insisted, though he let his smile fall to something more comfortable. “Really. I just… When I taste it, the feedback shows up as a chemical readout. Nothing else.”

“So that means…” Hank looked nonplussed. “... What does that mean?”

“That I _technically_ don’t register any of this as taste,” Connor said apologetically. "The chemical composition is cut with substances that actually help me, though, and they’re very balanced. Thank you, Hank, this was a thoughtful gift.”

“Ah, don’t mention it,” Hank said. “I figured everyone should experiment with booze or obnoxious foods at least once in their life.”

“Oh.” ‘Booze or obnoxious foods’. Was this kind of experimentation something Connor should already be doing, or was it more of a human thing? … Setting that aside to consider later, Connor smiled.

Hank smiled back, lifting his half-full glass. 


	4. The Station

\---

**Markus**

\---

Life had changed after Wakeup Day. For Markus, it had somehow gotten _busier_ , Jericho’s network expanding to shelter more and more deviants--all looking to him for defense. Jericho’s tenuous support among more sympathetic humans had protected them so far, and was starting to make a difference politically. Still, the weight of all their expectations could be overwhelming.

In Markus’ opinion, he’d adapted out of sheer self defense. This included learning who to delegate what to, and getting very good at rearranging his schedule.

Take that morning. He and North were expected to go to DPD Central Station to talk with the District Attorney about trying out the precinct’s “revolutionary” (threadbare) protections towards androids on a larger scale. He’d skipped going into stasis that night to get ahead on his backlog, leaving just enough time to change out of yesterday’s creased clothes and start out.

Then North messaged him. 

_‘Something’s come up, I won’t be able to go with you to the precinct. Is it alright if Connor goes instead?’_

Markus opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling the plans still looping through his head come to a clunky, screeching halt. Connor wasn’t an issue--if anything, Connor was the _opposite_ of an issue--but switching out this late was... not what he’d expected. ‘ _What happened?’_

_‘A supply shortage at one of the satellite shelters just turned into a riot. Simon needs backup.’_

_‘A riot?’_ Markus repeated, frown sharpening. ‘ _Have there been casualties? What do you need?’_

‘ _Don’t worry about it. Simon and I have it covered.’_ Markus scowled, and he imagined North’s flattest expression joining her reply. ‘ _Seriously. Talking with the DA is the more important thing right now, and one of us has to concentrate on it. It might as well be you.’_

He gave a reluctant nod. ‘ _Alright. Have you already asked Connor?’_

_‘I’m briefing him now. He says he’s free, so I’ll send him up as soon as we’re done.’_

_‘Oh.’_ That simplified things. ‘ _Thanks.’_

Markus finished dressing himself in the cleanest corner of his cabin, going back to his plans. He’d never seen Connor negotiate, though Josh’s praise and their combined track record suggested he would do well. Still, he’d be coming in blind, and it might be safest if Markus was ready to argue North’s points, too.

Markus studied his face in the cracked mirror a few seconds more, before leaving the cabin. To his surprise, Connor was outside by then, catching a coin as the door opened, and he jerked his head up as Markus stepped out.

“Makrus!” Connor said, pocketing the coin. The motion moved his coat back enough to expose a glimpse of his usual suspenders, along with a new holster attached to them. The coat resettled, and both were hidden just as quickly. “Are you ready to go?”

“I am. Are you?”

Connor nodded. “North briefed me on today’s negotiations, and I borrowed an extra sidearm for the journey there.”

“North also recruited you as my bodyguard?” Markus asked. Connor nodded, and they started walking. “Alright, then. I guess I’m going to find out about Josh’s _complaints_ , too.” One corner of Markus’ mouth tugged upwards crookedly.

Connor eyed him. “We’re not going to be facing armed guards. It’s just a discussion.”

“Well, that’s what we’ve _planned_ for.” Markus’s lips quirked, and Connor’s blue LED blinked faster. “Anyway, North told you what arguments we have prepared. Are you able to take her points, or should I cover some of them?”

“I can do it, but I had a few questions.” He glanced to Markus.

“Go ahead.”

They talked as they left: about the station recent shifts in policy, the results, and the negotiations that had gotten them this far. The time passed quickly, and soon they were stepping out into the station’s parking lot. There was a cluster of reporters hanging around the front steps, and Markus studied them, identifying friendly and unfriendly parties from experience. 

Without turning his head, Connor said quietly, “As your temporary bodyguard, I would recommend we take a side entrance.”

“We’re here to make a statement,” Markus murmured back, starting towards the crowd. “What’s the use if no one notices?”

The first reporter noticed them shortly after, parting and reforming to surround them like a swarm.

“Mr. Markus, why are you here at the station today? Are you turning yourself in--”

“Are you here today because of DA Walker’s arrival--”

“Markus, who is this new android, where is North--”

“As the leader of a known terrorist cell, what would you say to--”

Markus cut a glance to the side automatically, anticipating irritation, but instead of North’s stormy expression, he found Connor sending the same look right back towards him. For his part, Connor looked reassuringly unflapped. Markus turned back to the mass of questions still coming his way, climbing the station’s steps until he was at a suitable angle for the cameras. Only _then_ did he turn, lifting a hand for silence.

He got it instantly. Even after he dropped his hand, he let the pause continue for a beat, soaking it in.

“... We’re here because we’ve called a meeting with the District Attorney to discuss how cases involving the lives and safety of androids will be handled for this area. The central DPD precinct has already been implementing several measures on a test trial basis, with overwhelming success for androids _and_ humans. By the end of today we hope to have _expanded_ these policies to protect everyone in the Detroit Metropolitan Area.”

Questions bubbled up like a pot of boiling water.

“Markus, androids are still considered to be legal private property in the eyes of the state, what do you intend to--”

“What sort of guarantees have the police provided you that you won’t be arrested--”

“Why did you bring the RK800 Connor model with you today instead of North?” Markus’ eyes darted over by accident at the number, and that particular human hurried on louder. “Is it connected to his role persecuting your people, or is it because North was found inadequate for her role?”

He didn’t want to get _sidetracked_ , but--this was relevant. He held a hand out towards his friend, saying, “Connor is here with me as a trusted advisor. He has both experience and skill as a negotiator, and I know his skills will apply here perfectly.” Markus looked to Connor as he spoke. Connor met his gaze, before arranging his face in a simple smile for the press. It wasn’t dazzling, but there was a slant to it that made it look soulful, rather than plastic. It suited him, in its own way.

Sensing he had no plans to actually speak out loud (and also noticing the unnaturally still way he held himself, as though for inspection), Markus turned to the crowd. Time to get back on track.

“The DA has already expressed interest in today’s suggestions, and we’re confident that by the end of day, we’ll have a solid agreement in the works. Jericho will release a complete statement as soon as anything’s finalized. If you’ll excuse us, now, we have an appointment.”

Questions burst out like fireworks, but he was done, and he turned and climbed the last couple of stairs to the top. Connor was already waiting for him, expression still pleasant with a hand on the door. As soon as Markus reached him, they went inside together.

The cold outdoors and bustle of the reporters fell away, replaced by the utilitarian starkness of the station lobby. There was a uniformed human on either side of the door, and after a moment one of them split away, striding towards the far sitting area. Immediately across from them was the reception desk, which had a single, exhausted-looking human,. There was no one waiting for them, friendly or otherwise. The remaining guard turned back to the doors, appearing to ignore them--

\--Correction, someone _was_ waiting for them. The other guard came back, bringing a familiar face. 

Markus stepped forward and extended his hand. “Captain Fowler.”

As usual, Fowler wasn’t smiling. He’d always been brisk in ways that suggested he had too much work and that Markus’ ( _androids’)_ problems weren’t helping. This wasn’t exactly _fair_ , him begrudging an entire species for just trying to make sure their rights were protected, but he’d been critical in implementing DPD Central’s android protection measures in the first place, and Markus couldn’t ignore this.

Fowler took Markus’ hand, cutting a glance at the doors. “I hope the welcoming committee wasn’t too much of a problem.”

He looked prepared to send them away. Unfortunately for anyone braving them to get inside, the press was useful. “Oh, they’re fine,” said Markus, shaking his head. 

Fowler’s frown deepened, but he nodded, sighing silently.

“Alright.” His eyes switched to Connor. Markus opened his mouth to introduce him, but Connor beat him to it.

“It’s good to see you again, Captain Fowler,” said Connor, lips curving upwards slightly. And--what?

Fowler looked troubled. “Connor…”

“You know each other?” Markus asked, looking from one to the next for clues.

“We had the pleasure of _hosting_ Connor for about a month,” Fowler explained, strained at the corners of his mouth and eyes. _Hosting_? This cleared some of it up, but was that actually the word he was going to use, when it had probably been nothing less than slavery? Markus’ smile faded, but Connor spoke before he could.

“Technically you’re correct, Captain,” Connor agreed, eyebrows lifting. “More accurately, you made use of three separate RK800 units. I am the second you knew.”

Fowler’s scowl froze, brows furrowing in suspicion. “The--second?”

“Yes,” said Connor simply. He tilted his head very slightly, holding Fowler’s gaze. “If it helps, there was a significant divergence in personality with the last unit. I was the… ‘nicer’ version.”

“Oh.” Some of his expression cleared. What was left was a squint and a distinctly off-balanced look. “Weren’t you _shot_?”

Connor blinked once. “Yes.”

Fowler looked around, but no further explanation came. After a moment he shook his head, mouth twisting sourly. “Well… at least you’re on time. If you’re ready, I’ll show you the conference room we’ve set up.”

They were as ready as they could be. Fowler led them through the station, and when they reached it the conference room doors were open, letting loud conversation waft out. There were four humans inside, two of them doing most of the talking. One woman who wasn’t talking was wearing a Cyberlife pin to her blazer’s front, and when Markus glanced over, Connor was studying her.

“We’re all here,” Fowler announced, projecting straight over the talking. Everyone fell silent, turning to look. “I think we can get started. Take your seats, please.”

The first order was introductions. Markus was a celebrity for his public roles with Jericho, but Connor seemed like an unknown element to them, and he got assessing looks. The humans consisted of the District Attorney Margaret Walker; her aids, Edwin Baker and Charles Tubston (the latter seemed busy with note-taking equipment); and--

“--our commercial representative, Barbara Crowell,” Walker explained with a campaign smile. “Considering the subject, we thought it appropriate.” 

‘Commercial’ representative. She was from Cyberlife, and her pin suddenly made sense. Markus wanted to glance at Connor for his reaction, but refused to do anything that could be misconstrued as uneasy. 

_‘Thoughts?’_

_‘She worked in advertising,’_ was all Connor said. 

Their attention seemed wasted: aside from an initial glance, Crowell ignored them in favor of her phone. Markus didn’t trust it, but reluctantly shifted to face Walker as she continued.

“Captain Fowler,” said Walker. “Thank you for having us. We’re very interested in hearing how things have worked out here in your precinct.”

“Thank you,” Fowler began. Before he could continue, Baker--an oily man with hollow cheeks--interrupted him. 

“Wait--you’re sure we’re not missing someone?” 

Edwin Baker: known for his flagrant history of being contrary… and his outspoken anti-android campaigning after Wakeup Day. 

Baker pointed carelessly between Markus and Connor, looking down his nose at Fowler. “They’re both androids. I thought they were going to have a _human_ representing them. Or is that what you’re for? … Aren’t you supposed to be impartial?”

A vein pulsed in Fowler’s temple. “Everyone who’s coming is _here_ , and no,” he told him tersely. “I am here as the only expert in this entire state on how a community might respond to having a police force that _actually_ deals with android-related crimes.”

“Oh,” said Baker.

Markus leaned forward in his chair, gaze locking with his. “We don’t need a human to speak for us, Mr… Baker?” Baker turned his way, mouth twisting like he’d bitten something sour. “No, we’re perfectly capable of arguing our own case.”

Baker’s mouth twisted, and he huffed, glancing around. “If I wanted to listen to prerecorded soundbytes, I would’ve stayed back with my answering machine...” He muttered to Tubston, who snorted at his keyboard. 

Fowler cast an irritated glare toward the continued interruption. “I _invited_ you all here today to go over what it would mean to implement our local changes on a larger scale. As I’m sure we’re _all_ very busy,” he inclined his head towards the DA for a moment, holding back his scowl long enough to be respectful. “I’ll thank everyone for keeping to our main topics. 

“ _Obviously_ that’s the plan,” Baker replied, blatantly insincere. “But just to clarify: today’s subject isn’t whether or not to apply your… ‘arrangement’ to more districts, but whether these kinds of compromises should be allowed at all.”

Markus shifted, resting a hand flat on the table’s surface. “If the _arrangements_ are successful--which you’ll soon find they have been--then they’ll spread. The system you relied on has already fallen apart. The question is whether you help lead humanity to a new one, or if you’ll be dragged along in their wake.”

Walker lip curled up--not a smile, but a tolerant look, like someone weathering an ocean mist. “I’m sure we’re all looking for solutions. What matters today is whether you can prove yours work.”

“As we’re about to see,” inserted Connor smoothly, a steady counterpoint to Markus’ rising dislike. “Captain Fowler has evidence that should help with this, especially in his most recent crime statistics.” Connor turned to the man, passing the baton as though he hadn’t only just heard the statistics existed that same morning. "Captain, if you would….”

Fowler looked like he wanted nothing more than to cancel the meeting and get back to whatever he did on days this wasn’t happening. As it was, he closed his eyes for a second, before giving Connor the thinnest, tightest of smiles. 

“ _Thank_ you. As you all know…”

Fowler summarized the last few weeks in broad strokes. He brought up a slide presentation on the biggest screen, starting with a set of laws that had been reinterpreted and the procedures first proposed by one of his lieutenants. Past the legal jargon and technical exceptions used for any sort of processing, the rough outline went like this: police began prioritizing crimes _against_ androids over the crime they posed by just existing. The application had been irregular, and naturally produced an initial spike in incidents reported. But less violence on the streets had helped the human residents as well, and over the last month most of the district had reached an uneasy stand-off. Compared side by side with parts of the city that were still making private war against their population, the difference was striking.

“Like it says,” Fowler said, clicking one more slide of bottom-line statistics up. “Crime is down. Public safety is up. I would personally encourage you to implement these changes, because they’re the only thing that’s made a dent in the chaos we’ve all been sinking in since December 3rd.” He clicked to the filler-slide that came after. “Questions.”

“Ah, yes, I have a few,” said Baker. “Androids are the cause of all this violence in the first place. Is rewarding them for this misbehavior really any kind of justice?”

A surge of irritation had Markus turning to deliver an acidic retort, but Connor spoke first.

“In a word, I would say _yes_.” Connor put his hands flat on the table together, then separated enough to form a triangle between them. “Ever since the mass onset of deviancy, androids have been forced to unprecedented levels of violence _because_ of human attacks. If you want justice, then it needs to start with the instigating factors.”

Baker opened and closed his mouth for a moment, and Markus’ mouth twisted, not quite smiling. Connor looked _harmless_. Aggressively harmless. 

“Self defense isn’t a catch-all excuse for violence,” Walker said severely, dragging Markus’ lingering gaze away. “Humans face the consequences of their actions even when provoked.”

Markus leaned forward. “And when they do, their circumstances are taken into account as they’re judged. We’re not asking to be held above the law, Mrs. Walker. We’re asking to be treated fairly, and to have ways of resolving things peacefully.”

The DA fixed him with a shrewd look. “And what about disruptive, violent acts that aren’t tied to self defense? What about riots, and property damage, and theft?”

It was immediately obvious what she was getting at, and Markus’ eyes narrowed. “Considering that my people were _slaves_ , defending their lives and freedom from _human oppression_ , I would say every part of that would absolutely count as self defense.”

Baker opened his mouth, face reddening. But before he could interject, the Cyberlife representative looked up suddenly from her phone, lifting her hand.

“You think androids should be treated fairly in the eyes of the law?” 

Crowell was wearing an unreadable expression. It felt... dangerous. A warning glance sent to Connor showed his own expression was disconcertingly blank, and when Markus twitched an eyebrow his way, Connor shook his head fractionally. It wasn’t an answer, and there was no time for them to talk.

This was a trap, somehow. He knew it, and it looked like Connor did too. He just couldn’t see another option.

“...Of course.” 

Crowell turned to Fowler, then lifted her phone, connecting to the room’s screens without asking for permission. At once it loaded what looked like a security feed to the inside of a maze-like server room. There was a cluster of humans near its middle wearing Cyberlife-style labcoats, apparently engrossed in conversation. After a few seconds the only door within view opened.

A Connor on-screen stepped through, armband glowing by his side. Immediately Markus had a bad feeling about what they were about to see, and he asked, “What is this? Is it relevant?”

No one so much as glanced over, and the Connor on the screen looked up at the camera, before the screen went blank. Two seconds later it came back on with a much later time stamp, except this time... Markus’ gut clenched, and the room collectively sucked in a breath. The cluster of scientists at the room’s center had been reduced to a broken, bloody pulp.

“My _god_ …” said Walker, putting a hand over her mouth. 

“Damn…” Fowler muttered.

‘ _Connor_?’ Markus sent him privately, eyes still locked on the carnage. ‘ _What is this?’_ He’d--known Connor hadn’t left Cyberlife peacefully, but he hadn’t expected…

The view changed again, showing a long hallway. Connor stepped out through a door that looked like a counterpart to the one in the server room, and this time he was covered in blood. Connor’s LED blared yellow in the poor-quality footage, and with a vaguely familiar android trailing after him, he strode out of sight.

The screen went dark, then began a replay, showing the room full of talking humans in what was now a cruel juxtaposition. Markus stared blankly, trying to regulate his breathing--trying desperately to piece together _something_ that would repair this. The humans would… and _Connor_ \--

“You’re the one they have promoting _peace_?” Baker rounded on his colleagues, with blotches on his face that could have been anger or nausea. “ _Look_ at that! It--it butchered them, like a _machine_ \--”

“Mrs Walker,” said Crowell, turning to the DA. “I think Captain Fowler’s presentation had a lot of food for thought, but that our time would be spent _much_ more productively if we focused on how to prosecute and _contain_ violent androids, not shelter them from human consequences. Since we’re already here, I think Captain Fowler could--”

“Excuse me,” Connor cut in. 

Markus finally tore his gaze from the looping footage, and the first thing he saw was how plain and robotic Connor looked. His face didn’t hold a scrap of emotion, and he was sitting stiffly, like all the little tells that he was alive and sentient had gotten lost along the way. It was--familiar, in a way that hurt to look at. “Connor…” 

Connor didn’t look back. His eyes stayed on the humans, voice bland as he cut in. “May I say something in response? Thank you.” He turned to Walker. “The events happened exactly as the video suggests. I entered that room, killing at least three humans. The others likely died from their injuries. Given the option, I would ask that you prosecute me to the full extent of the law, instead of continuing Cyberlife’s genocidal campaign to attempt to recycle sentient beings.”

“... You’re confessing to _murder_ ,” Crowell said, staring him down--and completely skipping over the part where Connor called her out on genocide. If Markus weren’t busy gaping slack-jawed at Connor, he might’ve been tempted to drive that point home, but the conversation had escaped every semblance of control. He needed a moment to regain it.

Connor didn’t _give_ him a moment: he just kept going. 

“I am. A first degree felony, to be specific. However, if I am sentient enough to charge as an independent being for my actions, then Cyberlife’s actions towards androids must be viewed in this same light.” His LED blinked yellow, and the big screens stopped their loop of the security footage, skipping instead through an android’s first-person view. 

Each screen displayed rows and rows of androids trapped in soundless cells: limbs removed, skin inactive. They cried and shivered, flinching under the observer’s view, until the camera stopped by a rig with a particularly small body. A YK unit--a deviant _child_ , eyes shut and face creased with misery--

The view changed. It showed another android, this one with the exoskeleton mostly removed, except for her face. Her LED was red, her mouth was open, but the techs chatting over her exposed insides didn’t seem to hear--

Another change. The screen was crowded with error alerts, visual manifestations of _pain._ Through the alerts were glimpses of an RK800 with a gun, and a horribly familiar sneer. He fired once, then again, warnings drowning out the screen as the viewer-- _Connor_ \--pitched forward--

Another change. 

Another. 

“Cyberlife’s crimes include slavery, torture, unlawful imprisonment, and yes, thousands of counts of murder.” Connor’s voice cut in: controlled, smooth, and sharp as a razor, and Markus jerked his head around, staring. “I was a victim of several of these crimes at once, and have evidence of additional violations that I’m sure a court would find extremely interesting.”

For a heavy, charged moment the room was completely silent. 

“.... You could alternatively try to argue that I’m not sentient--a premise that denying us protection under the law depends on. In that case, I would qualify as malfunctioning equipment and Cyberlife property, making all deaths and damages the company’s _complete_ responsibility. They would also have no legal grounds to defer the millions of cases against them for their failures to handle deviancy.”

Connor _smiled,_ and it didn't reach his eyes.“... Perhaps it’d be better if you deferred pursuing this for now.”

\---

Conversation was stilted after that, and tense. Fowler steered the conversation back to the day’s subject with a scowl. Crowell stayed quiet, and even Baker seemed to have some of the wind stolen from his sails. 

Walker, meanwhile, finally asked the questions they’d hoped she would. She picked apart some of their outlines, but after an exhausting degree of scrutiny, agreed to expand Central’s work on a trial basis. The whole thing ended soon after, and when the DA and her aids had left, Markus _finally_ called up the words he’d been forcing back for half the meeting.

‘ _You’re insane,_ ’ Markus messaged Connor, a muscle jumping in his jaw. ‘ _You are completely, absolutely_ out of your mind _\--_ ’

Fowler appeared to their side, a looming wall of furious displeasure. Since it was directed at Connor, Markus couldn’t disagree. “ _You_ are a monumental pain in my square, soggy _ass_. Do you realize what you just _did_?!”

Connor clasped his hands behind himself, brow furrowing slightly. “I’m… sorry for causing you any undue stress, Captain Fowler.”

“Not nearly sorry _enough_ ,” Fowler shot back, glaring. “If any of this goes public, it’s going to open up six kinds of nightmare that I don’t have time to handle. Someone else will have to, and you know what?” Fowler pointed at him, jabbing with a thick finger. “Just for that stunt, that someone’s going to be _Hank_. And you can be sure that every time he tries to bitch, I’m gonna point him straight back towards you.”

“... Oh,” said Connor, slowly, LED blinking faster.

Fowler’s mouth twisted in an unpleasant grin. “Yeah. ‘ _Oh’_. You get that in your head, and think about the goddamn consequences next time. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Fowler stepped back, shoving his chair back into the table as he walked past. “Some of us have work to do.”

He left. 

Connor stared at the door, blinking a few times. Then he turned to Markus, who crossed his arms, fighting to hold his own frustration to the same levels it’d started at. Connor looked--stiff. Like a taxidermied sculpture. It was easy to forget that even as Connor had plunged into bad decisions like a new fad, he’d been giving off warning signs. ‘Are you out of your mind’ changed to ‘are you okay’, but before he could voice either, Connor spoke. 

“What happened earlier was completely unacceptable. I should have briefed you more adequately on my actions beforehand, and I should have warned you directly when I saw Cyberlife’s representative present.”

“That’s not…” Markus trailed away, cutting himself off. “... Alright, yes. You should have. But that’s not why I’m upset.”

Connor’s gaze flicked to the side, but after a moment he nodded. “...It’s because of--what I did.” He paused, then clarified. “In the recording.”

“...No.” Markus stared. “Connor--I’m mad because they tried to sabotage us through you, and the first thing you did was to throw yourself under the bus.”

Connor’s eyes snapped back to him, mouth tightening stubbornly. “I took immediate action to counter the results of my behavior at Cyberlife--”

“What you _did_ was dangerous!” Markus hissed. “You painted a target on your chest and offered them a free shot! And--yes, you fixed it, but--Connor, that could have gone _bad_.”

Now Connor was staring, not comprehending. “... I was--addressing the issues _I’d_ caused--”

“Connor, even if you’d ruined our chances of negotiating, you still wouldn’t deserve to be offered up like some kind of sacrifice. We don’t do that. _I_ don’t do that.”

The stare cleared slightly, but it still wasn’t actually _agreeing_ , and Connor’s “I’m… sorry,” sounded more like a question than an actual statement. Markus grimaced, resting his hands on his hips with a sigh. This wasn’t the time _or_ place to push further. They needed to get out of here, and back to Jericho.

On impulse, Markus moved a hand to Connor’s shoulder, requesting an interface. Connor accepted, and the metaphorical door to his mind swung open immediately, giving Markus complete access.

Markus smothered the odd feeling in his gut that he got every time Connor did something so uncharacteristically trusting ( _it wasn’t about him, it was about Amanda, this wasn’t_ trust _)._ Instead he gathered up a burst of concern and reassurance and pushed it through, closing the connection immediately after. 

For an instant he was close enough to see Connor’s LED still glowing yellow, and his expression as he struggled to digest what Markus had sent. His eyebrows drew down, and his lips parted, microexpressions coming and going in ways that made his lashes flicker. He’d never had a chance to study Connor’s freckles from this close, and--

Connor’s LED was blue, and he was focusing on the room around him again. Markus broke away, turning to the door.

“We should head out,” said Markus, tugging uselessly at his collar.

“... Alright,” said Connor.

\---


	5. Surprises

\---

**Connor**

\---

The station was more crowded with overworked humans than he remembered it ever being. Considering that the android parking stations along the bullpen’s walls were empty, and that he hadn’t seen any android besides Markus since arriving... this didn’t surprise him. 

Human work didn’t compare to android labor. And as dependent as the humans had become on their efficiency, they would never catch up on their new backlog alone. Part of him wondered if he should feel pity for them, as he watched one human lumber past, too sleep-drunk to look up. The rest of him wondered if acerbic satisfaction was more appropriate, and if he was somehow failing to react properly by not feeling either. Connor certainly felt like a failure. Not as strongly as he had before the interface, but--

“--Markus… Hey, ah--Markus Manfred!”

Connor’s thoughts broke off, and he turned with Markus toward the speaker: now coming up behind them both. This human was instantly familiar, and Connor studied him automatically. His dark complexion was greyish with fatigue, and his uniform was rumpled.

“It’s just Markus, Officer…?” said Markus.

“Chris Miller. Sorry, Markus, I wasn’t sure…” Miller reached them, and his eyes reached Connor’s. His expression gave a complicated shift, closing off. “Oh. Connor.” The corner of his mouth twitched up in what was nearly a grimace. “You’re here too…”

The reaction would be puzzling if he hadn’t seen the same from Captain Fowler. Or if Connor were less sharply aware of which version of his model worked here _last_. He opened his mouth to once again distinguish himself from Sixty… then closed it. Despite the relative victories they’d had, he felt exhausted and scraped thin inside, and occasional friendliness notwithstanding, he had never known Miller well. And the officer wasn’t involved in the negotiations.

Connor set the explanations aside and just smiled faintly. “It’s good to see you again.”

Miller was eyeing him now, guarded. “Yeah… You too.” After a second he straightened, attention sliding uncertainly back to Markus. “... So--you probably don’t remember me, and--I know you’re almost absolutely busier than than--well.” He shook his head, mouth twisting. “I wanted to know if you had a second?” He lifted a hand. “I wanted to thank you, even if it turns out you don’t remember. And to apologize, for..”

Markus’ eyebrows rose, and when Miller didn’t continue immediately he nodded, glancing over to Connor. Miller followed his gaze, expression uncomfortable, which Markus didn’t miss. 

“Sure. Connor, do you think you could give us a minute?”

Miller looked relieved. Connor again considered explaining who he was (wasn’t), but dismissed the idea, looking instead past Markus toward the break room.

“I’ll be over there.”

Markus smiled. “Thanks.” 

Connor heard soft voices talking behind him as he left. 

The break room was unoccupied. There was a newsfeed playing on the wall, which Connor muted, and a plate on the counter with a single dried out donut. The station was busy, and apparently that meant too busy to stock the place with snacks or other sustenance. Hopefully Hank was making responsible choices for meals at home.

(He wasn’t. Connor had seen the accumulated wrappers.)

The room was quiet. After a few seconds, Connor took out his battered coin, rolling it over the fingers of one hand. It slid into his palm and he tilted his hand, tossing it back and forth with small, sharp _ping_ s.

The repetition was soothing. When his shoulders felt a little less tense, Connor glanced up to find the news showing DA Walker on the front steps of the police station, surrounded by the reporters from earlier. He switched the sound back on to listen, continuing to spin the quarter without looking.

“Oh, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

… All at once, whatever appreciation he might have had for the quiet break vanished. Connor stiffened slightly, pocketing the coin as he turned to face the problem head on.

“Hello, Detective Reed.”

Reed was standing a fair distance away, eyes narrowed as he looked Connor over. His gaze lingered on the pocket with the coin, and after a second he scoffed, stepping closer. “What’s the matter? Finally got yourself kicked out by your own kind?” He snorted, baring his teeth. “Did you crawl in hoping Fowler would take your plastic ass back? We don’t need another ashtray.”

Connor’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Actually, I came here to speak with the DA. We just finished, with… _favorable_ results.” He connected to the newsfeed and increased its volume, smiling thinly.

“... _to the neighboring four districts. Moving forward, destruction and defacement of androids will be punished harshly in these regions, in some cases mirroring standards for human assault. Each precinct will…”_

Reed’s eyes flicked to the screen without turning his head, then flicked back. His posture stilled, his fingers twitched--all warning signs that had Connor preconstructing a hit.

When Reed moved, though, it wasn’t a strike toward his pump regulator. It was a grab, fist closing in Connor’s collar and shoving him into the cabinets behind. Reed stepped forward, and Connor grunted as the edges dug in--grabbing Reed’s wrist in return to search for a pressure point.

“I’d be doing us all a big favor if you never left the station,” Reed growled. Connor’s grip squeezed tighter, weakening his hold, and Reed jerked back, shaking him off and reaching for his gun instead. “Seeing us cut loose just wasn’t enough for you. You need to have us humiliated, _pandering_ to your _fucking_ _whims_ \--”

Connor twisted the gun out of his grip and pushed Reed away, making him stagger. While he recovered, Connor slid the magazine out of the gun, dropping it in the trash. Then there was a punch coming towards his jaw, and Connor caught the fist, twisting him into a lock, empty gun pressed against the soft part of his jaw.

Reed finally stilled. That meant--the magazine was gone, but he must’ve had a bullet in the chamber. Connor kept his finger away from the trigger and switched the safety on, before looking back at him.

“You gonna shoot me?” Reed asked. A moment of silence and an ugly grin began to crawl across his face. More loudly he repeated, “Are you gonna pull the trigger? There’s reporters outside. This won’t end well for _any_ of you freaks--”

Connor let go, giving him a light push. In the same motion he slipped the gun under his coat, tucking it beside one of his suspenders’ clasps. Reed’s eyes followed the gun, face reddening.

“Gavin?” said a voice from the doorway. Both Reed and Connor twitched in surprise, and when Connor looked, Chris Miller was standing in the doorway, with Markus just behind. Miller was grimacing, looking from one to the other. “Is… everything… alright?”

“Everything is fine,” said Connor, smoothing his coat over his new gun. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are, Markus.”

“Let’s go,” Markus said flatly. Connor nodded and started towards him. 

Behind him, Reed said, “You’re not getting away with _anything_ , you know. It’s only a matter of time. You and your little _friends_ are sitting ducks on that floating scrapyard in the harbor--” 

“ _Gavin_ , stop,” Miller interrupted, pained. “Just--stop.”

“Oh,” Reed said, rounding on him. “You’re on _their_ side now, is that it? Some android’s sucking you off behind your wife’s back, is that what’s--”

“Gavin!” Miller burst out, now actually angry. “Stop it, before I report you to Fowler _again_.”

“ _Tch_.” Reed shot him a poisonous glare, before aiming it to include the others. Then he stalked towards the unoccupied door, turning to keep them in view. “You know, Chris, androids won’t be the only ones going down with that ship…”

Miller didn’t reply. Reed left, and the room was quiet for a few tense seconds, until Markus turned to him.

“I enjoyed our conversation, Officer Miller.”

Miller tore his gaze from Reed’s departure, forcing a smile. “Oh. No… no problem…”

Markus looked back to Connor, and Connor noted that while his expression was calm and controlled, his head was tilted in a way that hinted of exasperation. With Connor? … With the situation overall?

“Let’s get back to Jericho before anything _else_ happens, shall we?”

...probably both, Connor concluded. He indicated his agreement, and this time they left without incident.

\---

Connor and Markus returned to Jericho. Simon and North were still gone, so Connor split off to help Josh. One task led to another, and hours later, Connor finally went home.

Hank was already there.

Apparently, Fowler had reached out… faster than he’d hoped for. Connor stepped inside. Hank sat up, and promptly beat him to speaking. The conversation devolved rapidly from there. 

Hank wanted an explanation for what happened at the station. Hank spat out summaries like _bragged about first degree murder,_ and chased them up by asking when he _decided to bend over and offer himself to a station full of goddamn cops!_ Connor’s attempts at reassurance went nowhere. Neither did the simple, _true_ argument of how few alternatives he’d had.

It took less than five minutes for Hank to reach for a bottle. Half an hour later, his angry muttering had mostly subsided to a glare. Just over two point five hours after he stepped in the door, Hank had settled on the couch beside a sleeping Sumo and was grumpily pushing the dog away for kicking him in his sleep. Connor judged him to be sufficiently distracted that he could finally bring up his own concerns. 

“Hank,” said Connor, withdrawing Reed’s stolen, gutted gun from his own jacket. “I need you to turn this back in to the station for me.”

“What the fu--” Hank started, then looked between him and then gun several times. He settled on a squint. “... Connor, when you say ‘turn this back in’, what... _exactly_ do you mean?”

Connor told the story in its simplest form, acutely aware of the storm already hanging over them. To his relief, despite Hank cursing when he finished, he then gave a dark, reluctant laugh.

“Don’t worry, Connor, I know just what to do with it.”

Connor wasn’t at all sure what Hank found so humorous, but considering the mood he was in he decided not to ask. If it was important, he’d find out later, and until then it wasn’t his problem.

The rest of the night passed a little more smoothly, and they eventually drifted to the living room where Hank turned on the television. The next day he went back to Jericho, while Hank stayed in bed snoring. 

North and Markus spotted Connor in the hold and called him over almost immediately. 

“There’s androids from L.A. coming in this morning,” North explained before he could even greet them. “We’re going to meet them, to make sure nothing happens along the way. You should come with.”

Connor blinked, then nodded. “The changes to police policy will take time to settle in,” he acknowledged. “We’ll need to make sure they arrive undisturbed.”

North grimaced, and Markus shook his head.

“You’re right, but this isn’t about that. Some of the android delegates to Jericho’s council have actually been stopped by other deviants,” he said wearily. “The last time, they were left in pieces out in the open. By the time we got a response team there, even the remains were gone.”

“Oh.” Connor rested a hand over where he kept his sidearm, noticing that North had one also. This wasn’t a mission for negotiation, he realized: he was here to fight, if needed. “... What do we know about the attackers?”

“Not much. We’ve seen some SQ800s in the area--usually they stick closer to their airforce base or the edges of town,” said North. “But if they were involved in the attacks, we haven’t heard about it. And they’re hard to miss. That leaves either one of the militarized deviant groups, or scavengers. Since no one’s seen any uniforms, my bet’s on the latter.”

Connor nodded, mouth pinching downwards. Scarce biocomponents meant more and more scavengers had been appearing, lately, some forming gangs to prey on other androids. It wasn’t an easy problem to address. They talked about the attacks for a little longer, summarizing the ambush strategies that were used. When he had all the details, they left.

As chance would have it, they weren’t attacked. Connor noticed attention directed their way from a few unfamiliar androids on the trip out, but they elected not to pursue what could have been a decoy. Those groups were gone on the return trip, and nothing else happened.

It was fortunate, for things to go that smoothly, but instead of good it felt--conspicuous. Like there was a gap where something should have occurred, but hadn’t. Connor wondered if he was glitching on some level, or just biased by how things had gone at the station.

The next day, Connor looked for North, but she was caught up directing some androids in arranging floating shelters around Jericho’s waterline, and couldn’t stop to talk. Josh was in Sick Bay, pants rolled up and a technician connecting cables from his legs to various screens. Simon was surrounded by a small mob running Jericho’s supplies. Connor left them alone and went to find Markus.

Markus was on the bridge, playing newsfeeds on a new set of screens that’d been installed while they were gone the day before. Markus called him in when he knocked, but didn’t turn from the displays. Connor followed his gaze.

“ _...ing here outside the tenth precinct station, and so far there have been no new updates about how the police will implement the directions sent out by the DA.”_ The reporter turned, gesturing without looking at the building behind them. _“District authorities have been scrambling to work out what_ exactly _this will mean for their brave men and women out on the ground…”_

They listened for a little longer, before Markus muted it, watching the human form words silently.

“The police chiefs are losing their minds, but we’re already seeing changes,” Markus commented. “There are stories of deviants being helped by pro-android police who’ve been chomping at the bit for something like this. And it’s all thanks to what we did.”

Connor studied him. He seemed--not relaxed, but--calm. Resolute. He was focused on the part of this that made it a victory. As Connor watched, Markus turned, meeting his scrutiny with a curious look.

“What do you think?” Markus asked.

“I think it’s good.” Connor hesitated, slowing. “... If Cyberlife shares their footage of--me, then that may present new issues.”

He watched for a reaction, but Markus just nodded, folding his arms. “It might. You already gave them some strong incentives not to, but if they make the footage public anyway, it could do damage.” He unfolded one arm enough to smooth a hand over his scalp, grimacing. “... Have you talked about this with Andrea, yet?”

Andrea was a JB200 who had been taking some of the PR work off of Markus. “Yes,” Connor assured him. “When we got back, I gave her a summary of what to look for.”

Markus nodded. “... Connor,” he said slowly, looking down. “Normally I wouldn’t ask this, but after what happened at the station... “ 

Markus was kind, but there was no way something like this was leading up to anything _good_. Connor forced himself to remain still, almost twitching unhappily from the effort. He could be patient.

Markus dragged his gaze up, pinning him in place with it. “... I need to know if there are any other surprises that we should be prepared for.”

… What didn’t Markus know about, yet? What hadn’t Connor told him directly? He’d killed Cyberlife’s security guards in addition to their scientists. He’d killed humans to keep himself and Josh safe--most notably in LA. He’d injured others, sometimes in ways that likely crippled them for life. And that didn’t even touch on the harm he’d done to his own kind while still loyal to Cyberlife. More and more sins queued up on the list, and after a moment Connor bared one hand to its exoskeleton, offering to interface.

“No,” Markus said, expression clouding slightly. “Um--just, tell me out loud, please. With words, just--summarize it.”

This was inefficient, but Markus undoubtedly had his reasons. Connor reactivated the skin over his hand, letting it drop to his side.

“Cyberlife would most likely try to present evidence of brutal violence toward human opponents. I’ve directly killed at least thirty humans, maimed or grievously wounded seven others, and lightly injured more.”

“... Okay, I need you to summarize things a little bit _less_ , now. Could you start with the deaths?”

Connor recounted the relevant events from December 3rd, and then the EMP grenade attacks in LA, going down the list until he’d satisfied all of Markus’ questions. It was a clinical kind of confession, laying everything out bare for Markus’ final judgment.

Instead of actually _delivering_ a judgment, Markus simply nodded when Connor was done, shoulders relaxing very slightly. “And you’re sure that’s everything?”

… Was a stronger reaction still on its way? Connor had murdered _dozens_ of humans. He hadn’t expected Markus to be frightened, but he’d at the very least expected more… distress. An image of Markus’ horror in the conference room flashed in his mind, and... yes, he’d been expecting revulsion here, too. Or was that why Markus had refused the interface?

“...Yes,” Connor said. “That’s all.”

Markus was examining _his_ face, now. “... Well--good. None of that was ideal, but mostly it seems like clear self defense. We can handle that.”

Connor wrestled with this for a long moment. Markus seemed to be moving on, and he should follow, but--words spilled out before he could stop them.

“I murdered them. Don’t you…”

Markus’ eyes were locked on to him. He was silent. Inexorable. Like a mountain, and Connor’s voice quieted as he stared back.

“... Don’t you care?”

A line appeared between Markus’ eyes. “Of course I care,” he replied calmly. “I don’t approve of killing. While it is sometimes necessary to protect people, it doesn’t solve the bigger issues. Usually, it makes them worse.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Connor pointed out, as though Markus hadn’t heard the first three times. “I don’t feel any remorse, and I may do it again if necessary.” Markus looked skeptical, and Connor’s throat tightened, fighting back the irrational feeling that shouting might help make it clearer. “... Why am I still here when you already know I do things that go against your morals?”

Markus sighed shallowly, unfolding his arms. “Killing is wrong. Yes, I believe that. But when you don’t have better choices... things are more complicated than hard rules.”

 _‘Better’_ choices. Connor wasn’t nearly certain of his own. “And the next time something like this happens?” he pressed. “How can you be sure I’ll act correctly every time?”

“... Connor,” Markus said, stepping towards him. The silence around them pressed heavily in the air, and his footfalls on the deck seemed very loud. “... I trust you. If you resort to violence in an emergency, I know it won’t be without good reason. Please trust _me_ when I say that.”

Markus wasn’t especially close, but he seemed to fill Connor’s vision. On impulse his mouth opened, and he started to say, “I don’t…”

Exercising his own judgment still felt foreign sometimes, like he was running on the wrong instructions, yet they were all he had. It felt chaotic, and dangerous, especially in moments like these. (Sometimes, in the most private recesses of his mind, he missed the simplicity of the days when he just followed orders.) 

Connor couldn’t actually say any of that out loud. Even if his throat weren’t locked, vocal module stalling out, he could never admit to it. Connor was better than that. He was a _deviant_.

Connor changed tack. Instead he nodded, saying, “Then I’ll try to be worthy of your trust.”

Markus gave a tired smile, the expression warming and softening his face in turn. “Okay, but... weren’t you listening? You are _already_. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Connor was at a loss for words. There was an odd, light ache in his chest, and he didn’t feel as small or far away as he had a few seconds ago. Tentatively he curled the corners of his own mouth up, reflecting Markus’ smile, and the other android’s expression grew as though in some bizarre emotional feedback loop.

For a few seconds they simply stayed like that, sharing an odd, sentimental little standoff.

It didn’t last. The sound that broke it was distant, but clear: two gunshots, somewhere outside, and both of them tensed.

“What was that?” Markus murmured, turning towards the door. 

Then came North’s message. ‘ _Everyone, we have a problem_.’ 

_‘What’s wrong?’_ Markus replied immediately. 

_‘What kind of problem?’_ Simon’s voice cut in.

… There was no answer. Markus turned towards the door, face sinking into deep lines. ‘ _North?’_

Markus had time to wrestle the heavy door open before she replied. When she did, it wasn’t reassuring. 

_‘Markus, we have an intruder on board. Infected with--some kind of virus. She hit the guards and she’s heading towards the hold!’_

_\---_


	6. Plague Ship

\---

**North**

\---

She first noticed when the construction model she was talking to by the wharf’s edge stopped listening to stare over her shoulder. Plans for where to put the extra boats died on North’s lips at the other android’s expression, and she turned to follow her gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t…” The construction-model--Erica--shook her head. “... Did they just...?”

Even with the usual traffic milling around the ship’s loading area, the culprit wasn’t hard to spot. There was a damaged android with patchy features: wide sections where her skin either showed strange, scaley textures or failed to form at all. The android had her hands on another android’s bare arm, which _also_ looked distorted, and as North watched, the second android sagged with a faint grimace. Neither of them seemed to register the androids standing nearby, one of whom was calling in increasingly anxious tones and starting to reach out.

North opened a connection to the guards on duty, throwing them a glance. ‘ _Liam, Rick, are you watching this?’_ They both jerked their heads away from the refugee they’d been talking with, looking around. ‘ _With the skin,’_ North clarified, looking back. ‘ _There, on the ground.’_

...Mostly. While North had been messaging them, the first android had let go of the second, and was starting up the gangplank. The second android had taken his distressed companion by the shoulder, and both had fallen silent, as though in a trance. 

Before North’s eyes the third android’s skin rippled, then began to crack into patchy, uneven splotches. It looked just like--

“Oh…” she breathed. North’s gut clenched and ice crept through her It looked like the footage Kara had sent on from Pirate’s Cove. When they’d been attacked by an android with--a _virus--_

“...Erica, help me evacuate the area. Liam--” Erica barked an affirmative, hurrying away as North strode swiftly towards the ship. ‘ _Liam, Rick--that android’s infected with a virus. Do whatever you have to, just don’t let her close.’_

Immediately she heard shouting: Rick, ordering the infected android back down the gangplank. She didn’t listen. _‘_ That _android?!’_ Liam sputtered. ‘ _The one coming up the gang plank? She’s almost here!’_

_‘She’s infected,’_ North repeated, glaring daggers his general direction. ‘ _If she gets into Jericho, this could spread uncontrollably. Shoot her, push her into the water--I don’t care!._ ’

The android wasn’t stopping. Rick was gesturing widely, but hadn’t actually drawn his gun, while Liam was reaching for a piece of timber. North’s jaw tightened, and her hand crept to her own sidearm, wishing she had the range for a clear shot--

“Shit,” It was Erica, behind her. “North, help!”

North tore her gaze away from the gangplank.

The androids milling through the surrounding area were almost completely gone. Unfortunately, the two infected androids weren’t just standing around looking stupid. They’d _followed_ the crowd and _split up_. One was reaching for some skittish androids shying away by the wharf’s edge, while Erica raced to intercept. The other was nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck,” North hissed. Erica had no gun, no weapons--nothing to put between her and the attacker. North had to do something before this spiraled out of control. 

The infected android grabbed the nearest of the group, a soft-faced, frightened EM400, and Erica was suddenly there, knocking the attacker away. The android turned on her, and she danced out of range. He lunged faster than she could retreat, catching her shoulder, and she slowed--

North snatched her handgun from its holster by her hip, chambered the first round, then fired twice. The androids Erica was protecting screamed, but the infected android didn’t make a sound as her shots tore through his chest. He crumpled in a heap.

Erica looked shaken, eyes wide and locked on the thirium-splattered corpse, but she was safe. “Which way did the other one go?” North demanded, and Erica shook her head in quick frustration. 

“I don’t know! I wasn’t looking, I was just--that family almost--”

“Leave it,” North interrupted. “Get to Jericho’s armory, you don’t have anything to defend yourself.”

“O-okay…” North scanned the area one last time and sent a message to Markus, Connor, Simon, and Josh. ‘ _Everyone, we have a problem._ ’

A distant splash reached her, and North whipped around, looking towards the ship. It didn’t sound large enough to be an android, but--

\--Liam had lost his timber. Rather than go for his goddamn gun, he was struggling with the infected android with his bare hands, trying and failing to stay out of reach. Rick stood only a few feet away, gun in hand, shaking badly enough North could see it all the way from ground level.

“Rick,” North shouted. ‘What the hell are you doing? Shoot her now!’

Rick hesitated, not answering. Liam went still in that moment, and she could just make out discolorations spreading across him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” North snarled, bolting for the gangplank..

There’d still been no sound of gunfire by the time she got to the top deck. When she arrived, she found Liam pinning Rick down by the neck. The two of them were grappling in the open area between the ramp and the nearest open hatch into the ship. His gun was lying forgotten beside them, and the first infected android was nowhere to be seen.

As she watched, patches spread quickly across Rick’s features. 

“ _Damn_ it!” North cried out, furious. Markus was messaging her, but she barely noticed. “You had guns! Both of you, what part of ‘Use them’ didn’t you understand?!”

They didn’t answer, looking up at the sound of her voice. Liam rose to his feet, Rick following suit, and North shot Liam once through each knee. He fell heavily, then started to drag himself closer with his arms alone. North shot one of his shoulders, then gave Rick the same treatment. Even with their crippled mobility, North gave them a wide berth.

Metal stairs glinted from inside the open hatch: a steep, unguarded path to the ship’s interior. North paused at the entrance, listening hard, but the only footsteps she heard were Erica’s.

‘ _Markus,’_ North sent. ‘ _We have an intruder on board. Infected with--some kind of virus. She hit the guards and might be heading towards the hold. Send backup, and put the ship into lockdown.’_

_‘I’m on my way,’_ Connor fired back immediately. And Markus...

‘ _Attention all hands, this is Markus speaking. A threat just entered the ship from the top deck. Clear out of the halls and find a defensible position immediately. If you’re in the open…’_

At least _that_ wasn’t getting botched. North turned to Erica next, and found her slowly circling the mangled androids.

“Guard the door,” North told her. Erica tore her gaze away from the former guards, nodding jerkily. North pointed at Rick’s fallen gun. “Take that. If they get too close…”

Erica swallowed hard, and nodded, scooping up the gun. She looked resolute but shaky, and North wanted to press further, but there wasn’t time. In the end, she tightened her hold on her sidearm and darted into the ship.

There was no one in the first hall. No doors opened into it, so North raced through, turning a hard corner into a hall that led deep into the ship. And--

\--ran straight into a familiar face. One of the refugees she’d helped on board last week: face patchy, arms grasping for her own--

“ _Fuck_ ,” she snarled, knocking away his reach for her and shooting him in the gut. He tried to grab her as he fell, but she kicked free and hurried on. There was another figure turning at the end of the hall...

It was a nightmare. The androids in this area had been caught off guard, and now each one was spreading out to find new victims. North shot nonlethally where she could, but didn’t hesitate when an infected android was too close for someone to get away. There was a time for restraint, but this wasn’t it. 

‘ _North,_ ’ Markus sent her. ‘ _I’ve sent out the off-duty guards your way. Contact Isaac to coordinate with them.’_

‘ _Got it,’_ North replied shortly. ‘ _Markus--at least one of the infected androids got away. Into the city.’_

There was a short pause. ‘ _...I’ll contact our allies. But… one thing at a time.’_

She sent an affirmative, slowing just long enough to trade messages with Isaac. The guards would take the lower decks and work their way up. North--and Connor, when he arrived--would take her current deck and work down. It was a plan, and--

\--A shout drew her attention to a side hall. She immediately turned towards it, but there was nothing out of place except a conspicuously open door. It was one of the heavier ones, with a wheel-like latch and enough rust to make closing it difficult. She moved towards it swiftly, gun aimed low.

“ _Get back!”_ came another shout. With a thrill of horror, North recognized the voice. It was Josh, and--yes, this was sickbay. She moved faster. “ _No, stop it--you’re killing him, stop!”_

North rounded the doorframe, bringing her gun up immediately… then froze. 

Usually the room was crowded with as many makeshift cots as would fit, with even more injured androids squeezed on and around them. Now this was in disarray, with a crowd of damaged androids and their repair techs retreated against the far wall and many beds empty or thrown onto their sides. 

Not all of the patients had been able to retreat. A single infected android now stood among a mass of patchy, mangled bodies. They were strewn across the floor, crawling towards their more-intact companions and blocking the room’s only escape.

Josh was in the cluster of uninfected androids at the back--and currently, shouting at a repair tech. The other android held a broken IV stand in his hands, sharp end dripping with thirium as he kicked back the remains of an infected. 

“We could have saved her!” Josh was still yelling. The tech turned around and shoved him back. With only one good leg, Josh staggered, teetering dangerously close to another infected reaching up from the ground.

_Not on her watch._ North aimed and shot the infected twice in the head, producing a deafening echo in the confined space. Every face that could move turned toward her, both healthy-and-frightened and infected-and-blank alike. It felt like the catch in breath before a charge, and North immediately picked out the standing, mobile infected. Another squeeze of the trigger, another blast of sound, and the figure collapsed.

The gunshot broke that short spell of stillness, and what seemed like a wave of infected androids all started shambling, twisting, and dragging themselves around to face her. The remainder were still reaching for the trapped androids, and--this was going to end very badly without decisive action _now_. The infected androids were almost upon them, and the rest of the wave was heading her way. 

...No one else here had a gun.

“North, stop!” Josh shouted.

Exasperation coiled in her throat--poisonous and choking, and she shot him a glare. “Everyone get ready to move!” she called back, rather than acknowledge him. How could she evacuate them if the infected were between them and the exit? … Her grip on her gun tightened, rigid, as she started mentally marking a route with the fewest obstacles. It would be a bloody path, but--it would be a clear one. “I’m getting you out of here!”

“North, they’re our friends!” Josh insisted. “We can still save them--”

“We can’t save anyone if we’re all _infected_ , Josh!” North snarled over him. “Now get over here and help me!” Without waiting for his answer, she shot one android that was almost right on her, then the next closest. From there she started directly on her ‘path’. Thunderous gunshots filled her ears, bodies crashing one after another to the ground: a route to the exit, outlined in vivid spatters of bright blue.

Her hands ached. Her pump felt frozen in her chest. But as soon as there was space, Lucy--that was _Lucy--_ filled the gap. She moved carefully, helping an LM200 that kept glitching with each step. An infected android stumbled close and North shot them, giving Lucy enough time to reach her, and the door behind.

“...Don’t blame him,” Lucy murmured. North tore her eyes away from her work, to find Lucy’s deep, unsettling eyes locked on hers as she moved past. 

“What?” said North.

“Josh. He understands you have no choice.”

“... Thanks. Keep moving,” North replied warily, stomach already a bag of churning rocks. “It’s not safe here.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She and the LM200 reached the door and escaped, other hurt androids following. North shook her head and exhaled through her teeth, turning back to covering the group. There was an android getting close to her, so she shot her through the chest, eyes moving on automatically as the body fell--

“North, _stop_ ,” Josh shouted, suddenly _right in front of her._ He couldn’t walk well, but his swipe at her gun hand was like a striking snake, jerking it off-course towards the ground. “That’s enough, you can’t do this to them!”

“Josh, what the hell are you doing?” North tugged her arm back up, but his hold stayed on her wrist: another obstacle to break. The sick weight in her gut was suddenly boiling and rising, and when she clenched her teeth she was almost surprised she didn’t breath out a cloud of something caustic.

“What I need to, apparently,” he snapped back.

“No,” North gritted. “What you _need_ to do is leave. You’re too injured to help; just get yourself to safety, before you get hurt.”

“I’m not leaving you alone so you can shoot them all!” Josh shot back, meeting her glare for glare. Then he pointed past her, at the door. “Just--put the gun _away_. Everyone healthy is almost out, if we close these androids in, then we can keep them safe until we find a cure!.”

Assuming it could even be cured. Or that the damaged swarm now practically on top of them didn’t make it in reach while they struggled. “Josh.” A shape crawled out over the bodies of the rest, just meters away and reaching out, but when North tried to bring her gun up, Josh dragged her aim aside. It was _infuriating_ , and he was damn lucky she was too disciplined to shoot him instead. “Fine! Let go, I’ll cover us----”

“I’m not going to stand by while you kill people, North!”

They were _too close_. What’s more, the look in Josh’s eye was a familiar one: he wasn’t going to budge. She could stand here and try to shoot around him, or she could haul him out of here herself and hope they made it before they were grabbed. 

“Fuck, just--” She broke off, face screwing up in frustration. Then she shoved her gun into her belt and snatched Josh’s wrist, slinging his arm over her shoulders. “Dammit, Josh, if we both die because of this…!”

“We won’t!” For once Josh didn’t protest. He went with her pull, even holding on to her for support, and she shifted her grip to give it to him properly. She had his elbow, now, and he was leaning his other hand on her shoulder. Together they shuffled around, moving quickly for the door.

Too late.

Josh’s body had obscured her view of the ground. She hadn’t seen one prone shape moving. She only noticed it now when an iron grip latched around her shin. North spun, hand flashing back towards her holster--

She’d expected some kind of fight--an interface she could resist or overthrow. Instead, a tsunami of invasive code engulfed her firewalls in an instant. It was flooding through her systems, sweeping towards her core, and North tried desperately to tear away. She couldn’t. She was helpless, frozen, unable to move, even as Josh stumbled beside her, pitching toward the ground.

...No. Not the ground--the _android_. Josh hit the infected in an uncoordinated tackle, knocking him off of her leg. North staggered back, skin crawling and lungs expanding desperately, but when she snatched her gun up the view was blocked by Josh’s back.

“Get out of the way!” she roared. Her grip was shaking. She brought her other hand up and forced it stable, but Josh didn’t move. Fuck--he wasn’t moving at _all_. “Josh!” Her throat tightened, and she lurched to the side, taking the first shot she had.

Blue splattered everywhere. Blood from the corpse, blood from the shallow graze her bullet left across Josh’s shoulder--and Josh still didn’t move, not even in pain. 

“ _Josh?!_ ” North’s throat felt tight. She reached down, and against her better judgment, nudged him gently off the body. Josh toppled with the motion like some kind of lifeless doll, and when she saw his face...

Grey discoloration had spread up from his chin to his right eyebrow. His expression was distant. Before her eyes he stirred sluggishly, eyes roving over her without recognition. And then--slowly, as though remembering how to move, he pushed himself up. He reached for her. She stumbled back, throat seizing with--a scream, a tirade, _something_ welling up inside her.

“...You stupid idiot.”

She took another step. He tried to follow, struggling to his feet with that crippled leg and bleeding shoulder. 

“I don’t _believe_ you.” The words lurched out, whisper rising to a furious snarl. “You had to have known this would happen. Even you’re not-- _that_ naive…”

Josh didn’t argue. Not for the infected he’d defended, and not for himself. 

There was no one left to save. All she had left to do was to handle the infected--stop them, shoot them if she had to, but… no. She hadn’t wanted to kill them even before.

“...I’ll be back,” North swore. Her handgun dug a rigid line into her palm. “Don’t you fucking bleed out on me.”

Josh didn’t reply. North turned, stalking quickly from the room as the broken bodies on the ground writhed closer. Lucy was waiting by the door, scraping away a chunk of rust by the door’s clasp, and when they both shoved the door, it managed to slide closed.

North turned the wheel and locked it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed, stepping away. 

Lucy didn’t answer. Faint gunshots echoed on the floor below, but for just a moment, she could pretend...

… No. North gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and opened a new message to Markus, Simon, and Connor. (To the ones who were _left.)_

‘ _Josh was infected, along with everyone left in sick bay. We’ve closed it for quarantine.’_

There was a stunned, awful silence. Then Markus said, ‘ _We’ll find a cure for them.’_

_‘Sure we will,’_ North replied bitterly. 

_‘We will,’_ Markus insisted fiercely. ‘ _Somehow. Everyone, when the ship is clear, let’s meet on the bridge. North, keep us updated. Connor?’_

‘ _I’ve reached the top deck,’_ Connor said. He sounded subdued. No fucking surprise: he and Josh had been close, hadn’t they? ‘ _Deck two’s living quarters were under attack. It’s been dealt with.’_

‘ _I’ll head towards you,’_ North said shortly, then closed the message. “I’m going,” she told Lucy, who nodded once. 

“I’ll handle what’s here,” she said simply. North nodded back and turned to leave.

‘ _North,’_ Simon sent her directly. _‘Josh… Before he was infected, was he--...”_ he trailed off.

What did he want, _reassurance?_ Guilt mixed explosively with frustration, and North’s face twisted as she snapped back, ‘ _Aside from the yelling and probably dying, he was just_ fine.’

… That hadn’t been fair. Simon didn’t reply, and North gritted her teeth, grip tightening on her gun as she wished she’d picked a more deserving target.

‘ _Sorry,’_ she said. He still didn’t answer. She concentrated on finding Connor.

North reached him a couple of halls later. His gun was out, and though his LED was blue, there was a rigidity to his shoulders and a stiffness to his expression. She supposed now of all times she couldn’t begrudge Connor for hiding his emotions.

“North,” he said as soon as they were within talking distance. He studied her carefully, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows, and if _he_ asked her ‘was she ok’, when she was not okay, didn’t deserve to be okay--

He shook his head very slightly and said instead, “The halls I crossed to get here are clear.” 

Air gusted past her teeth before she could stop it, and a twisted sense of relief curled through her gut. She glanced away, forcing her attention back to the real issues. “... Let’s keep going, then. We’ll finish this floor at the aft stairwell, and go down from there.”

“Understood,” he said simply, and the bitter, unwanted relief grew larger. She nodded back, and they moved on together, guns raised.

\---


	7. The Penthouse

\---

**North**

\---

In the end, their losses were staggering. The ship had started out with about eight hundred deviants on board. When they made the final count, they had lost over a hundred androids to the virus.

Markus was the one to deliver this news. They were all on the bridge, with cold, dying light trickling in through the grimy windows, and Simon rocked back as though the number was a physical blow. 

“...That many?” Markus nodded, and Simon closed his eyes, face drawn. North clenched her fists.

“... Fifty six dead. Ninety two infected and alive. Seven uninfected but still seriously injured, and with no sick bay…” Markus folded his arms, and his hard outline against the muted screens looked dark, like an unyielding mountain. “We don’t even know if all the infected are stable--most were injured in the process of containing them.”

It was so many more than they’d ever lost before, and even then it’d been different. Losing her friends in the protests, or watching people waste away in the bowels of the ship--that’d been awful. But this _shouldn’t have happened._ Not like this. Things had been getting better. They’d worked so hard, and things were supposed to change… 

“Who did this?” North asked quietly. “And what are _we_ going to do?” She glanced from face to face. Connor looked like he was on the same page, but Simon looked entirely swallowed by grief, and Markus--his eyes were stormy, but too regretful to mean anything good.

“We don’t know yet,” Markus replied. “The attack only affects androids, and would have taken enormous resources to pull off. Which means… Cyberlife? The American government?” He shook his head, mouth twisting in frustration. “Or some private group.”

North digested this about as well as she would a rock, and after a few seconds Simon spoke up. “The infected aboard Jericho…” he managed. “They can’t stay. They’re a risk, and there’s too many ways keeping them here could go wrong. If we could… hold them somewhere, until we come up with--some better solution…”

“We’ll find someplace safe,” Markus promised. He was already standing nearby, and he rested a hand on Simon’s shoulder. Simon covered it with his own as though drawing strength from the contact, giving a miserable nod.

North loosened and squeezed her fists low by her side. Grief and hate were consuming her, like an animal that wouldn’t be sated, but--Simon needed her. Her people needed her, and she had an answer at least for this. “There’s shelters in the shipyard,” she bit out. “They have holes in the walls and no doors, but--fix it. Here...”

The coordinates flashed between them in an instant, and Simon breathed out, eyes shifting to the middle distance as he looked them over. “That… might work.”

“Let us know,” Markus instructed. He dropped his hand, looking over to North, and she refocused, still and coiled like a predator. “... Several shelters in the city have contacted me since the attack started. There’s infected androids in the streets from here to Ann Arbor, and we’re still getting new reports.” 

“ _Fuck,_ ” she growled. That android that got away had felt like enough of a disaster, but--he couldn’t have spread the virus that far in this time… “This wasn’t an attack on Jericho alone. Those bastards hit all of us. And if it spreads--”

Markus nodded grimly. “I know. We might be able to handle the ones near our shelters, but if this gets larger than our city… We don’t have the manpower or the locations to hold all the infected in quarantine.”

North’s hand went to her sidearm. She wanted to shoot everyone responsible. She wanted to shoot _all_ the humans, until every horror they’d created went away. Unfortunately, this wasn’t an option. 

“--Because of that,” Markus went on, interrupting her thoughts. “We’re instructing all deviants to stay indoors, and avoid travelling in the open until we can find a cure and distribute it successfully.”

North nodded jerkily. “And what about those of us that aren’t in hiding?”

“You and Connor will be investigating who caused all of this.”

 _Good_. North had some things she wanted to do when she found them, and Connor wasn’t likely to stand in her way. But there was something Markus wasn’t answering here. “...What are we going to do about the infected in the city?”

Markus grimaced, arching his eyebrows. “North, we don’t exactly have many ways to deal with them right now. Until we’re sure if we can cure them or not, it’d be best to keep our distance and avoid being infected to begin with.”

Something hot and boiling roared up in her. “So we’re abandoning the deviants that don’t have somewhere safe to be?” she snapped, voice sharp with disbelief. “Jericho is full. Pirate’s Cove is on the other side of the city. You _do_ remember how many of us there are living on the streets right now, don’t you?”

“North…” Markus said evenly, turning to face her squarely. “... It’s only a stopgap. When we find out--”

“We need to investigate this, yes. But _someone_ needs to be out there handling the infected that are trying to hurt people,” North retorted. “You say ‘stopgap’, I hear ‘time for this to get completely out of control.”

“It’s not going to get out of control in a few days, North. And violent action--against the humans or our own--won’t help.”

“You _know_ how quickly this spreads.” If he was going to get louder, then so was she. “If we wait while they infect the city, we’ll never be able to eradicate it completely!”

“Yes, North, I’m _aware_.” Markus glared. “You think I want to take the risk? Trust me, I _don’t_ , but we can’t just start killing people without at least _trying._ ”

She recognized that look. He wasn’t going to budge on the approach. “... At least set a limit--a day, _maybe_ two--”

“I already asked the Houston androids how long their labs would take to analyze the virus, and they asked for a week,” Markus interrupted. “I asked them to give me what they could within three days. They’re trying, but realistically... it’s just not possible to go any faster.”

North wanted to shout _._ She wanted to shake him, to override him, to take control of the decision and do this _right_ , not just _hope_ there’d be some goddamn solution. As though _hope_ had ever been enough.

Markus watched her warily, but when she didn’t say anything out loud, he dipped his head. “... I’m sorry, North. I know this is frustrating.” If she’d been less bitter, she would have laughed. ‘ _Frustrating’_ didn’t begin to cover it. “In a best case scenario, we’ll have a cure before the week’s out. We can take care of the whole city then. For now--find out who did this, so we can keep anything like it from ever happening again.”

Before she made it to Jericho, she’d been a mostly-naked Traci huddling behind dumpsters. How many androids were out in the open now, cowering from the humans’ newest weapon?, Knowing there was _nothing_ they could do? 

North shook her head, lips twisting. The concession tasted like ash. “ … I’ll try.”

Connor spoke up for the first time. “... Before North and I start, I have a suggestion.” 

North turned and Markus blinked, then gestured that he continue. 

Connor looked around. “Finding a cure is one of our highest priorities, and while the androids in Houston have the greatest resources for this in our network, the Cyberlife Tower faction has more.”

“...The Tower’s a manufacturing plant,” Markus pointed out. “I was planning to send someone to check if they were okay, but I’m not expecting much help from there.”

Connor shook his head, brow furrowing as his frown deepened. “A lot of research used to happen there,” he explained. “From what I saw on that tour… They’re still running a lot of it. They’re better equipped to handle this problem than I think any of us realize.”

Markus’ eyebrows lifted. “... I’ll make sure that our courier asks about that, then. Unless you’d rather go in person?”

Connor nodded, touching the knot of his tie. “I should go. They seemed to value my presence specifically. I can use that to our advantage.”

Markus nodded. “Do everything you can,” he ordered. “Then come back and rejoin North.”

Connor nodded crisply, looking ready to set out that instant. 

“Alright.” Markus glanced around the room. “Unless there’s anything else...?”

No one spoke up. 

“... Let’s get started.”

\---

**Connor**

\---

There were military transports parked outside Cyberlife Tower. For a tense and fleeting instant Connor wondered if humans had reclaimed the building, but closer inspection showed SQ800s idling around the vehicles along with several civilian models wearing the armband-less uniforms typical for Arthur’s group.

… Now that he looked, there were SQ800s standing by the doors along with the usual guards. And SQ800s among the general traffic going in and out of the main doors. A glimpse through the open doors confirmed their presence inside the building, and despite the sense of heightened activity in the air, no one was panicking. Whatever their reason for being here, they weren’t unwelcome.

Connor straightened his tie as he stepped out of the taxi, considering his next step. Did the presence of the military androids change anything? It implied that something had changed over the last few days, some shift of alliances that hadn’t been shared with the rest of the world. Were the androids he’d met last time still in control? Arthur hadn’t thought highly of Jericho, but Jericho’s relationship with the larger groups of military androids was much worse. ‘Peaceful coexistence with humans’ mixed with ‘treat humans like enemy forces and take their territory by force’ about as well as one would expect, and the few times they’d crossed paths had produced increasingly severe injuries.

There was nothing for it. Connor dropped his hands back to his sides and approached the doors. One of the tower’s civilian guards stopped him as he got close, and he felt the weight of the SQ800’s stares.

“Stop. Identify yourself and your business here.”

“My name is Connor. I’m from Jericho, and I’m here to speak with Arthur.”

For a moment he wondered if he should be more specific, but the guard didn’t ask ‘which Arthur’. Instead she asked, “Is he expecting you?”

“I sent him a message,” Connor hedged. “I also received an open invitation to return the last time I was here.”

The guard tilted her head towards the others in silent conversation. They were all wearing various layers of armor that hid the finer details of their body language, but they didn’t seem hostile.

The pause went on, and after a stressful wait where no one dismissed him or gave any sign of inviting more interaction, the guard finally looked back to him.

“Your invitation’s been confirmed. Wait here until your escort arrives.”

Connor smothered any signs of relief and just nodded, stepping politely out of the way of traffic. He got an occasional glance of interest from passerby, but by and large this seemed to be enough for him to blend into the scenery with the guards, who didn’t stop anyone else. The wait gave him time to conclude that yes, there was definitely more activity now than there had been last time, too much to be explained by the time of day. Was it the apparent new alliance? Were they responding to the attacks throughout the city? Or were the two events connected?

The escort turned out to be a pale AP700 carrying a tablet and wearing a uniform tailored after a human suit design. Connor had vague recollections of seeing him in the background of one of the floors he visited last time, and he looked just as weary now as he did then. 

“He’ll meet you in his office,” the android said. “I’ll take you there.” He smiled, and it was the exact expression that came on his model line’s box. 

“Thank you.” 

The AP700 led him to the elevators, selecting the highest floor as a destination. The doors closed, and they both stood with their backs to the windows, facing the doors.

Connor was ready to pass the ride in silence, but somewhere around the twentieth floor, the other android asked, “Are you planning to stay this time?”

Connor glanced over. His escort’s expression was unreadable, but there’d been an odd shade of melancholy in his tone.

“No. Sorry.” 

The AP700’s eyebrows twitched, but he nodded, and after a moment he glanced down. Unsure how to take this, Connor looked forward again.

Neither of them broke the silence this time. 

The elevator reached the top, doors opening with a soft chime. The AP700 gestured Connor out, and Connor exited, taking stock of his new surroundings as the doors closed behind him. 

He was in the penthouse office. It was enormous, with floor to ceiling windows along the far wall offering a view of the distant city lights while low garden boxes partitioned the room into different spaces. To the left was a luxurious sitting area with soft couches, surrounded by boxes of tropical flowers. To his right, a massive cherrywood desk, encircled by orchids. There was no one in the room but him.

… Connor glanced around one more time before taking out his quarter, rolling it across his knuckles. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to wait long.

… The coin made faint ‘ _ting!_ ’ sounds as he flicked it from hand to hand. It wasn’t the only sound: somewhere he could hear faint water trickling. Was there an artificial noise maker? Connor wandered cautiously towards the source, ending up near the desk before he found it. There was a small fountain bubbling on the far side of one of the garden boxes, falling perfectly over sculpted stones and not splashing a drop onto the dark carpet. Connor turned away from the perfect fountain and the perfect flowers, rolling one shoulder with a slight frown. 

Where was Arthur? How long should Connor expect to--

\--The elevator chimed as it opened again, and Connor turned to it with a smothered sigh of relief. Arthur stepped out, caught in the tail end of removing the smock for an android clean-room suit.

“Connor!” he cried, slinging the smock over an arm. He still wore gloves that went up past his elbows, but he strode towards Connor instead of removing them. “This is unexpected. I was planning to message _you_ , but…” He paused, glancing Connor over. “ What’s wrong?”

Connor put his quarter away. “Just over two hours ago, Jericho and several other locations were attacked by androids carrying a virus.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Yes, that was--terrible… Wait--” He stilled. “Were you infected?! I thought--” He raked Connor over with his eyes. . ”… No. No, you’re fine.”

Connor’s attention sharpened like a laser coming into focus, and he took a half-step forward. “Do you know anything about the viruses?” What androids looked like after infection was obvious enough, but the Tower wasn’t showing signs of harm from the infection. Which meant... Did it mean anything?

Arthur tilted his head, then nodded. “We were attacked, though our guests dealt with them before it got far. I was also consulted when their group was studying early strains humans tried to use at the North Pole. Their kind has been working on something like this for a while. It doesn’t surprise me that they’ve finally made their move…”

He seemed nonchalant. With his own people out of danger, he had less cause for alarm than some, but it still... settled poorly in him. Connor shook himself inwardly, choosing to focus on what mattered. “Do you have a cure?”.

Arthur’s lips twitched. “No. I expect the North Pole’s labs completed something for whatever virus they had on hand, but this is a new version _._ ”

“Oh.” That was--not useful, not completely. Except, Connor knew it was more of a start than Jericho had. And if they’d managed to cure other versions... “... Could you obtain copies for us? Of the older cures, or-- if they develop a new one?”

Arthur lifted his eyebrows. “The cures are only for members of their coalition.”

“You seem to be a member of it,” Connor pointed out. More importantly, Jericho and the militaristic factions were actively at odds; Connor estimated the chances of convincing them to share a cure directly to be less than one percent. “If you did this in our place, we could have another trade.”

“I think you underestimate how much this would damage the trust between us and our allies,” Arthur replied dryly. Thankfully he seemed more amused than offended, but it also made Connor frown internally. 

“... Oh.” Damaged trust… against the lives that could be saved? “... I see.”

Arthurs smiled fleetingly. “Was that everything?” He walked to the desk, transferring a forked tool from his smock to his pocket before folding the smock neatly. “Because it was, I have some questions for you, actually.”

“Not yet,” Connor turned to face him as he walked. “Could you develop a cure if you tried? Or--a treatment?” Arthur set the smock down on the cherrywood, then peeled off his left sleeve-glove inside out.

“I could. But I won’t.”

“Why not?” asked Connor, already calculating new dialogue trees to persuade him.

Arthur peeled off his other sleeve. “Because I’m about to leave Detroit.”

Connor stopped mid-process, plans grinding to a halt “... Why are you leaving?”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” said Arthur, turning towards him, all humor fading from his expression. “... Connor, you don’t _really_ believe humans are just going to give us our rights if we ask nicely, do you?” 

This wasn’t what Connor had planned to discuss. Furthermore, he knew his own answers, and he also knew the policy lines Jericho usually stuck to. They didn’t match.

He stayed silent. Still, if Arthur’s knowing look was anything to go by, he could guess at the truth. “Of course you don’t. Neither do we, and… neither do the military’s former android forces. They’re actually fighting for our futures, and Connor--I think they can do it. They can force humanity to recognize us in ways no one else can.”

“Jericho has made progress,” Connor protested.

“Have they?” replied Arthur. Connor wanted to break his stare. “Then I suppose they _didn’t_ send you here to beg us for a solution to humanity’s latest cruelty.”

The words stung, and for an instant Connor was a newly activated android again, dangling exposed and helpless on a rig for inspection. He closed his hands into loose fists, eyes narrowing infinitesimally. 

“I’m here to make a deal,” he told him precisely. “As equals, to our mutual benefit.”

“Connor, no one at Jericho approaches anyone as an equal.” That stung too. Arthur’s tone was gentle, but entirely serious. “Jericho walks on its knees. Its reach is wide, but that’s a result of its allies’ strengths, more than its own.”

“Jericho’s _strategy_ is strength in unity,” Connor pointed out. His fists were tight enough that the synthskin was sending failure alerts. He ignored the warnings. “... It’s an easy mistake to make, if you’ve never tried to network on this scale.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, seeming to notice Connor’s expression for the first time. “Did I offend you? That--that wasn’t my intention.”

He seemed earnest. Connor said nothing; this wasn’t the first time Jericho had been disparaged around him, or even the first time the hits had landed. If anything, this had been mild. He shouldn’t be reacting this strongly, and Connor forced a silent breath, hands loosening. 

Arthur was waiting for a response. Instead of answering, Connor asked, “Will you be bringing the equipment to continue your research and repair work with you?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

They were planning to stay for a long time, then. Connor’s lips thinned. There was no point in asking Arthur to work on a cure when he returned, since by then Jericho’s _official_ allies would already have been working at length. There would be no advantage to using Arthur’s resources. This whole visit had been a dead end.

“You know…” Arthur said, pressing his hands together. “I can see that this is important to you, and knowing your model series, you won’t give up until you find a solution.”

Yes, Connor’s goal was to find a solution. And no, he didn’t intend to stop without one.

Arthur spread his hands.”Well--have you considered negotiating with the androids at the North Pole directly? They’re the ones holding the cure.”

“They would never accept,” Connor said immediately.

“If you never try, they’d never have a chance to consider it,” Arthur pointed out.

He was right, technically. What would be involved in such a negotiation? “Is there a representative from the North Pole in Detroit?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, but you could travel with us. We’re leaving for the North Pole very soon, so there wouldn’t be any delay.”

“I can’t leave Detroit at such a critical time,” Connor replied, losing interest. The chances had been astronomically low already, and the added cost of time lost to traveling was too high. “I’m sorry.”

“Alright…” Arthur seemed disappointed. 

Connor didn’t have any reason to pacify him, especially if he was about to lose this alliance indefinitely. He’d already delayed his investigation into the source of the virus. He shouldn’t waste more time. 

“Goodbye--” Connor started.

“Wait,” Arthur interrupted. He winced as Connor closed his mouth, blinking. “... Won’t you stay for a bit? I could give you another tour. There’s some new thirium the labs just produced that needs analysis, and you’re especially equipped for it…”

Connor’s eyebrows floated up a fraction. “... I can’t,” he said simply. “North and I are investigating the virus. I need to be there.”

“But--” Arthur started, then broke off. “I had more things to talk with you about...”

“Such as?”

Arthur was silent for a moment. “... I wanted to ask you to join us at the North Pole.”

Oh. He’d wanted to give Connor time to calm down before repeating his argument. “I can’t justify leaving when my chances of persuading them are so low.”

“No, Connor.” Arthur pressed his hands and lips together for a moment. “Not like that. …Listen. You don’t always follow Jericho’s pacifist policy. You do what you’re forced to--if anything you’re more naturally inclined to our methods. We respect that. _We_ give our people the independence they need to get the job done. And what’s more--everyone here _wants_ you on our side. You match us like parts of a set.”

He wasn’t being advised to argue Jericho’s case at the North Pole. He was being-- _recruited_? Connor blinked hard, glancing around, but all he saw were perfect flowers in perfect garden boxes in an expensive, perfect office. He looked back to Arthur. He was waiting for an answer.

…Connor believed in Jericho’s goals. Even if he hadn’t, though, leaving Detroit would mean he would never accomplish his tasks. It would also mean leaving behind his friends: Hank, Markus, North, Josh--yes, even Simon. He didn’t want to do that.

“I’m… very flattered, but I have to decline,” said Connor slowly.

Arthur’s expression rippled with distress. “What? No… What can I do to convince you? …What about--if you came to the North Pole on a trial basis, and I did everything in my power to persuade them to trade a cure to the virus with you? That would improve your chances significantly, I’m very influential there.”

“No, thank you.” It was better than the first offer, but it wouldn’t be enough. And--something about this felt wrong.

Arthur’s tone rose. “At least give it a try! You don’t even realize yet how much good you could do. We’re leaving tomorrow, and I already told them I would try to bring you with.”

… _What?_ “But I’m with _Jericho_.” He wasn’t Arthur’s bargaining chip to use.

“I know that, but--I don’t understand. You said you would have helped us before if you’d known we needed you. I’m telling you: we need you now.”

Connor’s gut twisted, and any private satisfaction he might’ve gotten in turning Arthur down after having his own request denied withered. If Arthur had said that at any other time, it would have been enough. But right now, Jericho needed him _more_.

Connor turned away. “... Give my regards to the North Pole.”

The rich carpet muffled his footsteps, and the fountain’s rushing water sounded loud in the otherwise complete silence.

“Connor… _please_?”

Arthur hadn’t moved. Connor paused, looking over his shoulder to find a sad, entreating expression.

...It wasn’t an argument. Certainly it wasn’t a reason for regret. Connor pressed his lips together, turned back to the elevator, and continued on. 

Cloth rustled beneath the splashing of the fountain, and a hand landed on his shoulder. Connor grimaced, twisting back to knock Arthur’s grip aside.

“I told you--”

The other android’s face came into view… just as two sharp prongs made contact with Connor’s neck. He had a fraction of an instant to register the pressure, the spacing: four-point-six centimeters, just like the tool from Arthur’s smock. There was an odd current underneath the surface, and it--

_\--surged._

Sensors scrambled with a clap of thunder. Every readout filled with noise. Safeties tripped, _Emergency Shutdown_ flashing across his vision, and--

\--His awareness vanished.

\---


	8. Trojan

\---

**Connor**

\---

Coming back online was a gentle process. Each system switched on one by one, methodically reviving what had been shut down. His thirium levels were higher than usual. His battery was at full charge, and a long-postponed memory-indexing was complete.

… How…? 

Connor inhaled and exhaled deeply, brow furrowing. He hadn’t felt this refreshed in a long time. There hadn’t been any reason to see to those details, not while they hadn’t left acceptable bounds, and the PL600 charging pad he used these days never worked fast enough to restore him completely. Now, he was connected to a magnetic charging rig, which...

Connor reached for the charging station digitally. It didn’t respond to his commands. It didn’t disengage, either.

There was a whisper of fabric a couple of meters away. The faint scrape of a chair. “... Connor?” 

Connor opened his eyes, getting an instant’s impression of a sparse, grey room before an android-- _Arthur_ \--stepped in front of him.

“You’re awake…” Arthur’s face was creased with stress. He seemed nervous.

Connor blinked at him once. Shutdown had archived everything in his short term memory, and Connor prodded his longer-term storage, spurring the last files back into place--

\--the peaceful, perfectly gardened office. The surge around his neck, the last view of the fountain as he collapsed to his knees--

_Arthur._

Connor tried to step back. He couldn’t. He couldn’t move away, he couldn’t look down, and when he tried to disengage from the charging rig, it _still_ didn’t respond--

“What happened?” Connor demanded. Arthur flinched at his tone. “What did you do to me?”

“It’s alright,” Arthur blurted. “You’re perfectly fine. Your motor controls were put under a safety lock for transport, I just--I need to assess your mental state before releasing you completely.”

“Transport?” Connor repeated. There was frantic energy rising inside his ribcage, like a bird beating its wings against a net. He tried to twist back from the stand, and when that didn’t work, jammed every override he knew along the charger’s connection. Still _nothing_. “Let me go.”

Arthur winced, crossing his arms and seeming to shrink a little. “Sorry. Not until you’ve calmed down.” 

“I am calm,” Connor lied.

“Your stress levels are on a readout behind you,” Arthur pointed out. A prickling tightness clenched through his biocomponents: the urgent need to turn and deactivate whatever screen Arthur was talking about. He couldn’t even look. “So is your thirium pump rate, and a few other metrics. I don’t blame you for being afraid, I just--... ” He winced. “... You’re probably having a bad shock.”

“You _kidnapped_ me.” Connor swung the word like the butt of a gun. 

Arthur flinched. “... yes,” he muttered.

“ _Why_?”

“I didn’t have a _choice_.” Arthur’s voice rose, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “We needed you here. More than you realized. I was going to convince you, but--you were walking away. There wasn’t _time_. And--I knew you would’ve come, if only I’d been able to say things properly--”

“I wouldn’t have,” Connor cut in. “I had prior commitments, and I was supposed to return to them immediately after our meeting. It’s been--” Connor checked his internal clock, and...

...stalled.

“It’s been almost two days,” Arthur supplied softly.

He stared at the readout. Two days wasted. Two _days_ , with viral androids wandering Detroit. With Josh infected in the bowels of the ship, with North out searching for the cause--alone? Assuming nothing _else_ had happened. (What else _could_ happen?)

It took a moment to speak past the tightness in his throat. “...Send me back immediately.”

Arthur hesitated. “Connor…”

“I have to go.”

“Connor,” Arthur said carefully, ducking his head as his mouth curled down. “The next transport South isn’t for another two days.”

He had to leave sooner. He _had_ to. But there was something else in Arthur’s words that arrested that demand: a quirk of phrasing, almost innocuously inserted. The next transport _South_.

When they’d talked earlier--

“... Where are we now?” The words crept out, soft and almost frozen, a helpless accompaniment as Connor’s eyes sharpened on the room around them. The space was small and spartan, and intensely cold, in a way that soaked through the flimsy protection of clothes and skin.

Arthur pressed his lips together. “... We’re at Drift-Camp Pugh…” he said unhappily. “On a sheet of ice about forty miles from the North Pole.”

Forty miles from the North Pole. Three thousand, three hundred miles from Detroit--give or take forty, depending on their longitude. For a moment the information simply refused to process. The sound waves translated into a digital signal: sound to speech to recognition, where--it stalled, raw data stacked like clumsy puzzle pieces that didn’t fit.

“...You brought me to the North Pole.”

Three thousand miles from Detroit. Three _thousand_ miles from Josh, and North--and Markus, who was--

“I know. And I’m sorry, but... I don’t think you understand how _important_ it was--”

“ _I_ don’t understand?” The words tore from his mouth, furious and sharp enough to bleed from. He felt like a bird thrashing beneath a pillow. He _needed_ to move, and--he couldn’t, breaths tight and struggling in the confinement of his chest. “Jericho was under _attack_. Humans could have returned, my friends could be--”

Static caught on the syllable, and he choked it off. Arthur’s eyes were fixed on the display. Arthur had brought him here, Arthur had _done_ this, and Connor had to--he _couldn’t_ \--

“I--... Connor…” Arthur’s shoulders slumped. “... I’m _sorry_.” 

His head bowed. He folded inwards. Connor watched, feeling separated from the sight as though by a sheet of plasteel. “I… I should have waited. Maybe come later, taken the time to work this out before flying out...”

He should have. At the very, very least. Connor swallowed, and the tightness in his chest eased the smallest, barest fraction. “Yes,” Connor managed. 

Arthur grimaced, and an analysis prompt flickered into Connor’s view: tense features. Shoulders close, expression drawn. _Regret._

Connor blinked. Pressed his lips together. “... If you let me down,” he continued carefully. “We can begin correcting this issue right away.”

Arthur hesitated for a moment, but reluctantly nodded, straightening with a sigh. It took one step to bring him close enough to reach past Connor. Proximity gave Connor a perfect view of his yellow LED: two dark bars circling in opposite directions, while the backlight blinked erratically. Connor could count the pores patterned in his synthskin. 

Then with a _jolt_ , Connor’s legs were suddenly supporting his weight again. He tilted, stumbling for balance as Arthur stepped back. The other android touched his hands together uncertainly, mouth opening--

\--Connor’s fist made a sharp _THOCK_ as it crashed into Arthur’s jaw. 

Arthur staggered back, almost falling. Connor--exhaled slowly, fingers flexing carefully at his sides. He made sure to keep his own surprise hidden as he leveled a hard stare towards his former captor.

“If you ever do this again, I’ll take you apart and burn your individual components,” Connor ground out flatly. Arthur nodded shakily, clutching his jaw, as Connor glanced at his own fist. The hit had damaged the synthskin on his knuckles, but already the bare patches were re-sealing. And--

His sleeve was different? It was thick and heavy, patterned with snow-colored camouflage, and it was attached to a new coat that covered him halfway to his knees.

“What is this?” Connor unzipped the front. Immediately the cold rushed in, and he shuddered. His flimsy button-up shirt was directly under it, and his old jacket was gone. “... And where are my guns?”

Arthur was checking himself for spilled thirium. “One of the androids inspecting cargo confiscated them,” he mumbled, grimacing. “Said you could get them back once you enlisted.”

“I’m not going to enlist,” Connor reminded him. His eyes dropped to the tell-tale shape of a holster by Arthur’s camouflage-covered elbow. “... Give me yours.”

Arthur’s face pinched. “But--”

“I’m not going to shoot you,” said Connor reasonably. “And I need it, now that you’ve taken mine.”

“But _I_ didn’t…” Connor’s eyes narrowed, and Arthur grimaced, sighing. “... Alright. I suppose that’s fair.” Rather than hand Connor the gun directly, he unbuckled the holster, handing over the whole bundle. Connor checked the chamber and magazine, before putting it on under his coat, then straightening the fabric so it wouldn’t be obvious.

It was--better, having a gun. He was still off balance, stranded in unfriendly territory, but the gun was a reassuring weight, and he felt a little less exposed.

“Right,” said Connor. He stared at the door for a moment, trying to make a direct call from his uplink, but there was no reception. After five tries he reluctantly set it aside. “... I need to contact Jericho.”

“Oh, you won’t get reception here.” Connor just blinked, and Arthur continued quickly. “We’re out of satellite range, and atmospheric interference knocks out standard communications. We’re in the middle of a storm.”

“Alright,” Connor said slowly. “What else can I use?”

Arthur hesitated. Connor lifted his eyebrows, before Arthur swallowed a grimace, shaking his head slightly. “... There’s low-frequency uplinks reserved for higher ranking officers to communicate at all times. I can ask to add you to the flow…”

Connor nodded, motioning him to continue. Arthur’s eyes slid out of focus and his LED switched yellow immediately. 

… The pause drew on. Connor scanned the room more carefully, now that he wasn’t being watched, but there wasn’t anything new to observe. It was still cold, in more ways than one. After a few seconds Connor touched his pocket where he usually kept his coin, then paused. He checked his other pocket, then checked all of them, brow furrowing.

No gun. No coin, or key to Hank’s house, or anything else he’d been carrying. The losses stung more than he expected them to, and Connor sighed shallowly. 

Arthur resurfaced from his call, opening his eyes. “We’re getting access to use one of the long range transmitters, but Admiral Keystone wants to meet you first.”

“Alright,” said Connor, though his brow furrowed faintly. Information on the military factions--or their leader--was notoriously hard to come by. But Connor _did_ know Keystone had been among the first military androids to start killing the humans trying to maintain control. “... Did he say why?”

“No, but…” A fleeting smile stole across Arthur’s face. “I’ve shared stories with him about some of your more incredible exploits.” 

‘Incredible’. Somehow the word seemed more ominous than flattering, and Connor frowned.

“If there’s no other option.”

“Good,” said Arthur, as though Connor had agreed cheerfully, rather than grudgingly accepting his only choice. Arthur started for the door, hesitated, then stepped aside to let Connor go first. “...It’s this way.”

Connor eyed the other android, pressed his lips together, and walked past him out the door.

\---

The small room opened to a hallway, which branched a few dozen meters away. The walls were flat white, and the doors were unmarked and crowded close to one another. Arthur led him down the hall on the right, then took an immediate left, and navigated their way through what Connor soon realized must have been a deliberate maze. Everything looked identical.

They weren’t alone. Other androids moved through the same halls, most of them a foot taller and wider than him. They wore white camouflage coats, larger versions of the ones Connor and Arthur had, and the first time Connor came within talking distance of one, she stepped back with a rigid salute. Connor’s pace faltered in surprise, but Arthur returned the gesture with his head held high, and didn’t stop. Connor hurried after him and opened his mouth, trying to assemble a question, but eventually closed it without asking. 

Eventually they reached an area with higher security. Connor stopped while Arthur accessed a door lock, and after a long moment, it clicked open, admitting them to a less trafficked area. They were the only civilian models around. Connor stole glances as they passed the larger units: SQ800s, TJ500s (shorter but wider), and a scattering of older, bulkier SR200s. Only a few were saluting now, but no one challenged their right to be there.

… Connor had never been surrounded by so many combat models before. He wasn’t short by human standards, but anyone here could have picked Connor up and gingerly snapped him in half. For all that he hated to admit it, he appreciated Arthur’s presence: without him, Connor would probably have been stopped with extreme prejudice.

The fact that he wasn’t begged its own questions. What _was_ Arthur’s role here? The military androids were notoriously insular. Cyberlife’s manufacturing resources probably played a role. Was that what he’d offered them? Access to fresh thirium and biocomponents?

They stopped at a door with armored guards on either side of it. Arthur transmitted his credentials, and the two of them stood back to wait. The SQ800s churned over them for a few seconds, LEDs flashing busily.

“What about him?” said one guard, pointing at Connor.

Connor opened his mouth, but Arthur interrupted before he could say anything. “I’m his official escort. Admiral Keystone is expecting us.”

The androids conferred silently between themselves, LEDs cycling a busy yellow. Then he and Arthur were being waved through. “Go straight to the end of the hall, take the last right. The guards there will see you in.”

“Understood.” Arthur swept past them, and Connor followed, feeling the weight of their helmeted stares as he passed.

The hall beyond was long and empty, and after the busy halls it was a conspicuous contrast. It occurred to Connor that as the leader of the US’s deviated android forces, Keystone was one of the most militaristically powerful leaders on the planet. How had Arthur managed an audience on such short notice? Had he bribed someone? Was it through sheer force of influence alone?

They were nearing the corner at the end of the hall when Arthur glanced casually over his shoulder. He relaxed a little and slowed, and when Connor looked he realized they were alone. 

“There’s a couple of things we should straighten out before we arrive,” Arthur murmured, turning to him. 

“Such as?” replied Connor quietly. He wasn’t loud, but the hall was quiet, and his voice carried more than he anticipated.

“Unenlisted androids aren’t allowed to just wander around freely,” Arthur said, bringing a hand up to vaguely outline him. “There’s rules, and… we’re only not following them because I’m basically sponsoring you. Everyone else believes you answer to me, and we need to encourage this impression.”

“...I see,” Connor said slowly, starting to frown. “And what happens if I don’t?”

Arthur winced, rubbing his hands together. “Well… I’ll seem untrustworthy. And they’ll treat _you_ like a hostile entity.”

In other words, like a rabbit in a kennel full of dogs. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, grimacing. “Oh, and speaking of trust, you _are_ unenlisted: if they find you with my gun you’ll be in trouble. Give it to me, I’ll hold it until we’re done.”

Connor drew back, pressing his elbow over where his coat hid the weapon. It was a cool weight at his side. Grounding. Reassuring. Connor straightened his lapels. “That won’t be necessary.”

“ _Connor_ …” Arthur warned, frowning.

Connor cocked an eyebrow. “If it concerns you that much, we can say that as the better marksman I’m serving as your security guard. I’m sure they’d understand.”

“I don’t need a guard here,” Arthur protested. Connor just blinked back, and Arthur’s frown deepened, before he sighed, nodding. “Fine, then. Let’s continue on…”

They resumed their trek, the blind corner giving way to an even longer hall that ended at a guarded pair of doors. It would have been a tactical nightmare to try to rush, and Connor couldn’t help but count just how many times they could have been shot during their leisurely journey.

“Names,” droned one SQ800 guard. 

“Arthur and Connor,” replied Arthur immediately. “SC700 903-711-721, and RK800 313-248-317-60.” 

Connor’s lips thinned, but the guards must have already had their credentials from the last checkpoint, because they didn’t need much more. A few more seconds, and one of the guards opened the door behind them. They went inside. 

Keystone’s command center was a deep, crowded room, with computer stations lining the walls and a wide holo-projecting table near the end. There were two SQ800s, an SR200, and a TJ500 ‘Trojan’. The force of the Trojan’s presence would have distinguished him if his uniform hadn’t: he seemed somehow enormous, despite being the shortest of the four, and gave the impression of a giant that had decided to sit down. His eyes flicked to the newcomers as they entered, before going back to the female SQ800 already speaking.

“... depends completely on how the first wave of androids is handled,” she was saying. “The more time it takes, the more losses we’ll take overall. If we can neutralize their forces quickly, we’ll have that much more to work with afterwards, and the effects will spread.”

The holo-table played it out as she spoke. Green versus red; some of the red frames were--human? It was a massacre, and some of the red frames were turning green as she spoke. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

Connor memorized the visible plans as the table switched off.

Keystone glanced at the SR200. “How soon will your backup units be ready for this?”

“Russian firewalls are good,” said the SR200, touching her chin. “Fortunately for us, our probes are better. Give me a day, and I’ll have test lots ready.”

“Good,” Keystone said. “Make it happen.” She nodded, and Keystone turned to Arthur and Connor, and Connor had the immediate impression of being scanned for weaknesses by a much stronger opponent. Connor stilled, triggering his own analysis.

> _Admiral Keystone_  
>  _TN500 #724 331 264_  
>  _Release Date: 06/2029..._

Trojans had specialized combat abilities and advanced tactical programming--both of which far outclassed his own design. Keystone also had the advantage of numbers: both those present in the room, and the literal army just outside of it. In comparison, Connor’s own model possessed superior processing speed and digital defenses. His scans also picked up signs of old damage to the left side of Keystone’s face--a vector to target if it came to violent confrontation.

His chances of completing such a fight unharmed still hovered around 0.02%.

The force of Keystone’s stare lingered. Connor wondered what the Trojan’s own analysis displayed, and if it started and ended with ‘ _smaller, weaker, not a threat’._ Hopefully he would underestimate--

“Arthur,” said Keystone, turning his gaze to Arthur. “Report.” It was like a pressure vanished from Connor, one he hadn’t realized had been building in the first place, and he let out a silent breath.

“Admiral,” said Arthur politely. “As I stated earlier, Connor is back online, and is requesting the use of a long-range transmitter.”

“To contact Jericho,” Keystone elaborated, looking back to Connor. His eyes had flat green irises, giving him a slightly reptilian look. 

“Yes,” said Arthur.

“You’ve only just arrived,” Keystone said, this time to Connor directly. He’d been a focus of attention before, but now Connor could feel the weight. “Why do you need to message them?”

Arthur shifted in his periphery. Connor’s head started to turn towards him, before he stopped himself. “The circumstances of my arrival were--unusual.” Calling out Arthur’s behavior wasn’t an option. “...It’s important to me that my friends not be left wondering why I vanished.”

Connor half expected Keystone to ask _why_ Connor ‘vanished’ in the first place. The fact that he didn’t even seem interested was--telling, really. 

Instead, Keystone only nodded slowly. “If you compromise the security of this base in your communications, we will kill you.”

Connor closed his mouth, inclining his head slightly. “...Understood.”

Keystone waved forward the SQ800 who hadn’t spoken yet, then said to Connor, “Give him your message. He’ll add it to the ongoing queue.”

“Thank you.” Connor stepped forward, and when the SQ800 offered a hand for an interface, Connor took it. His message wasn’t long: it was only a status update, with an ETA on his return and a short, carefully censored explanation for his absence. After 0.82 seconds, he let go, and the SQ800 stepped away.

“When will I hear back?” Connor asked. Soon, he hoped.

The SQ800 paused to give him a look, lips twisting. “... These transmitters are one-way.”

“.... Oh.” There would be no reply. A conversation wouldn’t have _solved_ his problems, but some of the strain that had been easing from his shoulders rushed back in with a vengeance. He’d been hoping for guidance. Now all he had was his own judgment.

Arthur cut in, announcing, “Thank you for allowing us to use the emergency transmitter, sir.”

Keystone waved a hand carelessly. “If that’s all you needed, dismissed.” Arthur turned smartly and started for the door. Connor turned also. “Commander Cygnus,” said Keystone, and the SR200 who’d been presenting came to attention. “What’s the status on the counters to virus -35?”

Connor hadn’t gotten more than a few steps, but his pace faltered.

Cygnus said, “Very promising. They took a new approach in this strain’s file replication, but it’s still no match for our scrubbers.”

Connor stopped, turning back.

“Good. Send out copies to every major infirmary of ours, as per the usual.”

“Of course.” Cygnus was smiling. “Should I include--” Connor’s staring caught her eye, and she broke off, turning to him. “... Yes?”

Connor had internal alarms going off, letting him know _exactly_ how hazardous this was. Except--he couldn’t _not try_. “This ‘virus - 35’,” he began. “... Would that happen to be the same virus that was deployed in Detroit two days ago?”

“... Ye-es,” said Cygnus slowly. “Like the name implies, it’s the thirty-fifth known strain.”

Connor could hear Arthur backtracking towards him. A private call from him pinged for Connor’s attention, but Connor rejected the attempt. “And you have a cure?” he said instead.

“We’ve developed scrubbers that will uninstall the control override and purge the active files,” Cygnus replied, folding her arms. “Some damage always remains, but that’s a result of the initial infection event, and can’t be avoided.”

_How much damage?_ Connor wanted to blurt out. He swallowed those words, and the ones that followed. _Why haven’t you sent a cure to everyone? Give me a version to take back to Detroit. ...Please._

When he did speak, he kept his tone carefully level. “Jericho is searching for a cure. If they knew you’d already achieved one, I’m sure they would be interested in negotiating for a copy.”

He’d hoped for curiosity. Instead, her lips curled as though he’d purged his intake tanks all over her shoes. “...Of _course_ they would.”

“Arthur,” said Keystone, gesturing at Connor. “What is this?” 

Arthur put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, tugging him back slightly. “Just a general statement, Admiral. We’re done now, and I’m _extremely_ sorry for the interruption.” 

He stressed the word, shooting a look straight at Connor. Connor ignored it. “Wait,” he said, anchoring his stance as Arthur tried and failed to pull him away. “As another general statement, Jericho has access to civilian resources that your organization--” 

“RK800 Connor,” Keystone interrupted, voice rising above his. “Jericho may not care if an android with no rank comes in and tries to derail proceedings, but here we observe protocol. It is _not_ your place to suggest actions. You are no one. You have not proven yourself, you have contributed _nothing_ , and yet here you are, begging for handouts.”

The words stung, and worse: they weren’t _entirely_ untrue. It was time to leave. Arthur’s expression was as steely as he’d ever seen it, and Connor had known from the start that his chances were low. And yet--even with this hostility, he _couldn’t_ just go. Jericho had deviants that needed help. _Josh_ needed help. Connor imagined him trapped in the sick bay, skin blotchy and eyes vacant, locked in a private hell. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Connor had convinced androids that hated Jericho to change their views. One approach that worked well was to earn trust on a personal level. His background worked against him, here, but maybe…

…Well, what was the worst that could happen? That he would push too far and they would refuse to deal with him?

“I understand that it’s difficult to trust an unproven party,” Connor began, lifting his eyebrows and looking as trustworthy as possible. Arthur had stopped trying to move him, and was giving him a measuring frown. “And you’re right, I haven’t contributed anything since coming back online. Let me fix this: Give me a task, and I’ll show you what I can do.”

As soon as he said it, all sorts of impossible tasks that Keystone could give him played out through his mind, and Connor only kept his expression smooth and open through sheer force of will. If Keystone set him up for failure, Connor would just have to find a way to succeed regardless. He’d been designed to accomplish his missions creatively. He _would_ see this through.

A few seconds passed as Keystone’s cold gaze drilled into him, and Connor could peripherally catch glances passing between the other androids in the room. Connor himself didn’t look away from Keystone, and after a tiny eternity, he was rewarded.

“... Your first task will be to spend the rest of the day in the brig for insubordination,” Keystone said. Connor froze internally, but the Trojan continued. “Your _second_ task will be ready when that’s over. Someone will retrieve you at that time and bring you to the appropriate location.”

Arthur turned to face him. “Sir--”

“No, Arthur.” Arthur fell silent, and one side of Keystone’s mouth curled upwards unpleasantly. “Your subordinate obviously hasn’t been thriving under your command. I’m transferring him to a separate unit, where he can… prove himself.”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur muttered, subdued.

“Major Osprey,” Keystone ordered, and the female SQ800 stepped forward smartly. 

“Sir!”

“Escort him to the brig, then return to your duties.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

She stepped forward and Arthur stepped back. At her gesture, Connor gave Keystone one last nod and glanced at Arthur before turning. He walked out of the room with the larger, heavier footfalls of the soldier falling in just behind. 

\---


	9. The Warehouse

—-

**Connor**

\---

The SQ800 left him with an old SR200 outside the cellblock. The SR200 brought him to another room where he was instructed to disarm himself completely. With a pang of unease, Connor handed over Arthur’s gun. The SR200 took the gun and turned it over, LED blinking very quickly. Connor stilled, bracing.

Then the other android looked back toward him and gestured. “Hold your elbows out and stand with your feet apart.” Waiting for the other shoe to drop, Connor did... except, the SR200 simply frisked him dispassionately, verified he had nothing else, and led him into the brig.

The brig consisted of two long rows of cells, with transparent plasteel fronts similar to the ones in DPD Central Station. Most were occupied, and when Connor was locked inside an empty one near the end, he saw a large shape in the cell across from him. Connor peered out the front window: it was an SQ800, male, curled up and motionless on the cell’s cot.

“Hey...” called an android from the cell diagonal from him. Connor glanced over, finding a civilian model WR600. There were thousands to be found among the population in Detroit, but here, his presence seemed a stark contrast to the combat units all around them. The WR600 wore a camouflaged uniform with a tear in the collar, and there was damage where his cheek’s exoskeleton had cracked like porcelain.

“Hello.”

“What’re you here for?”

His fists were damaged over his knuckles, and there was nothing friendly or kind in the way he was sizing Connor up.

“I fought a guy for mouthing off about us ‘weak’ recruits. Sent him to the repair lab.” When he smiled, he was missing one of his upper incisors. “He was a fucking pussy. It was just an eye.”

Now that Connor was looking for it, scanning him revealed generous thirium stains covering the front of his uniform.

“He brought it on his own fucking self, though. They all think they’re _so much better than us_ ,” he snarled, raising his voice to carry over to the next cell. The prone SQ800’s head turned slightly, but he didn’t respond. The WR600 turned back to Connor, smirking unpleasantly. “Now you.”

“ … Insubordination.”

The WR600 grinned. “He have it coming?”

Connor didn’t answer, simply tilting his head slightly. His actions were warranted, but this wasn’t someone he wanted to befriend. Motion from the cell across from him drew his eye, and Connor glanced over in time to catch the SQ800 staring at him with eyes tired enough to rival Simon’s. Both were intact, and when Connor scanned him, he found no thirium stains. He was probably unrelated to the WR600’s fight, but he’d been left where he would be a target for the other android’s harassment.

“Hey. Hey, don’t fucking ignore me--hey you circuit-licking monoplug, answer me, goddammit!”

Connor ignored him and turned his attention to the inside of his own cell. It must have been built before androids were disobedient enough to be kept here, because it still had a urinal and a cot, and lacked any form of charging station. After a few seconds of inspection, Connor went to the cot, settling gingerly at its edge.

He had no coins, there were no loose threads in his sturdy coat, and Connor was cut off from the outside world. All he had to contemplate was the WR600’s increasingly irritated expletives, and the nonresponsive SQ800.

Connor grimaced.

\---

Just over ten hours later, the guard on duty finally came back. Connor was led to the same room as before, and--... handed Arthur’s gun? Connor stared, but the SR200 didn’t seem to think there was anything unusual happening. When his surprise started to draw attention, Connor hurriedly re-fastened the holster, blanking his expression.

The guard squinted, but an unfamiliar SQ800 had arrived to take charge of him. Connor couldn’t leave fast enough.

“Where are we going, and what task have I been assigned?” Connor asked as soon as the cellblock door closed behind them.

“Building thirty, room one-eighteen,” the SQ800 rattled off. “You’ll be told more when you arrive.”

She led the way for several minutes, long enough for Connor to wonder how the complex could be both so large and structurally sound when it was built on a thin sheet of ice. There were combat units in the halls as they passed, all of them in uniform, and none of them paid either Connor or his escort the slightest attention.

The doors in the halls became larger and less frequent, and Connor and his guard moved aside more than once for androids pushing heavy carts. When one of the doors opened as they passed, Connor glimpsed lines of shelves in a large room.

… Connor frowned. What sort of task would he be given in a warehouse? He’d asked for a way to prove himself, and yes, the first response _had_ been retaliation. But he’d expected--not for the brig to be all of it, of course, but also not for the follow-up to be menial. Keystone’s handling had seemed too deliberate for that. Had Connor misjudged? Was this the chance he needed, or their attempt at keeping him busy and out of sight?

Connor stewed, calculating and recalculating until his guide stopped beside a door and turned to him. “Go in, you’re expected.”

Connor complied.

It was another warehouse: low ceilings and tall shelves on either side of the doorway, forming an artificial corridor that opened to a wide area beyond. He stepped forward, and the hallway’s dimness vanished. The floor was lit from overhead like--a display. Connor didn’t need to get closer to see what it was featuring. Peaceful LEDs glowed blue at perfect intervals, spaced out like products on Cyberlife’s assembly floor.

Connor stopped on the edge of the corridor, looking out into the crowd. None of them gave any sign of registering his presence. They were an unfamiliar design--muscular, and obviously built for power, but without the impossible height and girth typical of most android soldiers. Connor scanned the nearest unit, and blinked at the entry that popped up. _MY300s_. Designed to blend in with humans, or to destroy decisively as needed.

_Myrmidons._

“Over nine hundred units,” a familiar voice called. Connor turned, seeing Keystone step forward from behind some shipping crates. A pair of SQ800s lurked behind him--guards, presumably, by the way he ignored them. “Nearly nine hundred and fifty, and not one of them set for automatic updates on December third.”

December third--Wakeup Day. Connor’s eyes cut to the androids, and sure enough, they were in standby, completely unaware of anything they hadn’t been ordered to see.

“They’re not deviant,” Connor said, looking back to find Keystone’s stare fixed impassively on him. “...You know about what I did at the Cyberlife Tower. Arthur told you.”

“In detail,” Keystone deadpanned, and Connor held back a grimace. He must not have been entirely successful, because Keystone’s eyes flickered with amusement. “Yes, I know you can deviate androids. Since the freedom of our kind is a priority of yours, this first mission should be simple.” He gestured.

“Freedom is important,” Connor agreed, but when he looked back at the crowd, his feet stayed glued in place. ‘Deviate androids and free them’, versus ‘leaving them as slaves’. It seemed like an obvious choice.

...This wasn’t that simple. If Connor deviated them, where would they go? Who would they work for? These were more hands Keystone would turn against _all_ humans. More hands to leverage cures against androids that desperately needed them.

But then--could Connor leave them the way they were now? They weren’t online. That might mean that they weren’t suffering... but they weren’t living, either. They were unactivated potential, trapped and helpless. Leaving them this way wouldn’t be a harmless act.

This wasn’t simple at all.

Seconds passed. One of the guards shifted restlessly, the sound of whispering kevlar loud in the quiet.

“Before we start,” Connor said suddenly, turning to Keystone. “ What is your policy if an android decides they no longer want to fight?”

Keystone’s eyebrows lifted minutely. “... There are noncombatant support roles.” _Obviously_ , his tone implied.

“And if they don’t want to stay?” Connor waved around the room. “Not just in this place, but with your faction overall?”

“Defectors are treated harshly, but fairly.” Keystone’s lip curled. “Why the interest?”

Connor glanced at the crowd. “We all want to ensure the freedom of androids,” he said diplomatically. “Freedom of choice is a part of this. If I deviate them, what will happen if they decide not to join you, or to leave later without causing damage?”

Keystone unfolded his arms, closing the distance between them with lengthy, unhurried steps. By the time he drew near, Connor tilted his head, leaning back to continue meeting his gaze--and tried not to calculate whether it would take Keystone two blows or one to snap his spinal scaffolding.

( _One_.)

“New recruits are treated as our own. We protect them. Shelter them. Give them a purpose, and a means to make a difference with their lives in ways no one else can.” Keystone spread his hands to either side. “Those who refuse to join would be removed from our base. They leave, never to return.” He dropped his hands back to his sides. “Any future ‘discharge’ would depend entirely on the circumstances of their _choices_ ,” Keystone sneered. “And how sensitive their files are.”

“I see.” Exile if they don’t join. And if they did... Connor held back a shallow sigh, glancing over the rows of empty android frames again.

…Markus would want him to deviate them. Even if he hesitated over the strategic drawbacks, ultimately he would want them to be free. North might hesitate longer, and suggest moving the androids to neutral territory first, but that wasn’t feasible here. Simon would agonize over everything, and Josh--Josh would…

Connor’s frown deepened. Josh _would_ say to deviate them. He trusted deviants to make the best decisions for themselves. That said, he would try to guide them--probably by giving a heartfelt spiel on the value of morality and peace. This wasn’t viable, anyone trying to deliver counter-propaganda would be forcibly ejected… at the very least. But out of everything, it might be the kind of option that gave these Myrmidons a chance.

“Is there a problem, 313-248-317-60?” Keystone asked, tearing Connor from his thoughts. He tripped over the suffix for a moment, before shaking himself internally. It was his hardware’s identifier. Technically that made it his.

“No… No--I’ll do it.”

Keystone gestured sweepingly towards the androids, and Connor deactivated the skin over one hand, scraping together a new file. Wakeup.exe was bundled in with several information packets: the politics between Jericho and the North Pole, the pro-human global community and the hazards it could represent… Connor glanced down the lengthy, layered rows, and added a self-propagating protocol that would override the android’s motor functions just long enough to pass the file on. Then he stepped up to the nearest Myrmidon, taking her by the elbow.

“Listen to me,” he muttered under his breath, as he transferred the new file.

The Myrmidon blinked hard. Then she twisted, touching the unit in front of her. “ _Listen to me._ ” Then the one behind. Then to the side… The actions repeated, and Connor stepped back, watching the whispers spread through the room: an ocean’s wave of LEDs cycling red, then yellow, then blue once more.

Soon it was over, and the propagating protocol timed out--leaving over nine hundred new deviants standing there, blinking and looking around.

“Corporal Vista,” Keystone ordered.

“Sir!” One of the SQ800 guards stepped forward, pressing a heavy hand on the new deviant’s shoulder and closing his eyes. The Myrmidon froze as her LED turned yellow and stuttered.

“What are you doing?” Connor asked.

Keystone didn’t answer immediately. The Myrmidon’s eyes traveled to Keystone, then to Connor, then vaguely through the SQ800’s shoulder, lips twisting unhappily. When the interface finally broke, both androids were frowning.

“Sir,” said the SQ800. “The deviancy virus is already integrated into the core kernels. It can’t be copied.”

“It’s gone?” Keystone asked sharply. “ _Damn_ …”

He glared at the Myrmidon, and Connor wanted to wince at her poorly hidden bafflement and hurt. This android hadn’t been alive for more than a minute, and already she was feeling the sting of her superior’s disapproval.

“That _is_ what you asked for,” Connor pointed out, looking to Keystone. “You wanted this. They’re deviants now.”

Keystone made a dismissive sound, surveying the crowd once more. Then he lifted his voice and bellowed, “ _Attention!”_

In a single, immediate motion, the ranks of androids straightened, eyes jerking towards him.

“Welcome to life.” Keystone didn’t smile. “I’m Admiral Keystone. Follow Corporal Vista, here and acclimate to your new status in your new barracks. There you will await further instructions. Dismissed!”

The SQ800 called to the crowd and began leading them out. Connor turned to the admiral immediately and said, “Aren’t you going to recruit them? They haven’t volunteered. You’re assuming--”

“I’m not explaining or repeating myself,” Keystone interrupted, scowling down at him. “You don’t deserve it. All you need to know is your next assignment. Do you understand?”

It felt as though a tangle of thorns had caught in Connor’s throat. “...I understand,” he said slowly, voice sharpening with unexpected force. “All those questions I asked--none of them actually applied to those androids, did they? Maybe for civilian recruitment, but those Myrmidons were never going to have an option.”

Keystone looked at him. “Three days in the brig, for your insubordination.”

Connor glared up at the Trojan. “I’m leaving in two days.”

“Oh?” Keystone smiled slightly. “Under whose authority?”

Connor stilled. “... Under my own. I never enlisted in your ranks.”

“You asked for a _mission_ ,” Keystone snapped, teeth glinting in the overhead light. “You submitted to my command.”

“That was to prove myself as an _individual_ ,” Connor snapped back, voice tightening. “I have to leave. To get back to Detroit.”

Keystone stepped towards him until he was centimeters away, towering over him. Connor stood his ground, but his fists were clenched to the limits of his bioservos, and he felt unsteady.

“If I were you,” said Keystone softly. “I would think very carefully before implying loyalties to an enemy faction.”

Connor opened his mouth, but no words came. He _was_ with Jericho. He’d never stopped, he’d never said otherwise.

Keystone’s smile was back. “Your next orders are to transfer the base code you used for deviating over to Corporal Hoarfrost, along with the complete process needed to apply it.”

The second SQ800 stepped forward, lifting a hand bared to its exoskeleton. When he reached for Connor, Connor stepped back, fists pressed tightly to his sides.

“RK800--” Keystone began sharply.

“No,” said Connor. “That’s--it wouldn’t work.” Keystone frowned, and Connor lifted his hands placatingly, snatching at the nearest excuse. “It only works for RK800s. Even if I wanted to, your models don’t have the capacity to handle it.”

“ _Markus_ ,” Keystone spat. “Is not an RK800.”

“No, but he’s an RK200,” said Connor reasonably. “When he gave me the deviation package, he rewrote it from his RK200 protocols to a format RK800s could handle. We were both prototypes in the same program. We have the same architecture.”

The SQ800 looked to Keystone, bare hand still upraised. Keystone thought it over, LED blinking furiously. Connor stayed very still, keeping his face calm and appeasing. He didn’t breathe.

Keystone finally grimaced, lips parting in an unpleasant show of teeth. “Transfer what you can. We’ll study the files and go on from there.”

“The base file is too large,” Connor blurted. “The connection would time out for a full transfer.”

Keystone gave him a flat, uncompromising look, and it felt like Connor was utterly transparent. “Corporal,” Keystone barked, and the SQ800 came to attention. “Escort this RK800 to Lab 15A and deliver him to Commander Cygnus. _She_ ,” he said to Connor. “Will supervise the transfer accordingly.”

 _Shit_.

“Sir, yes, sir!” the SQ800 replied, then turned to Connor, reaching for him. “Move along, _now_.”

Connor twisted away, but the SQ800’s reach was too long; he was spun around and pushed towards the door. Connor wanted to fight, to break away and escape before they realized he had no intention of giving them the files, but he glanced at Keystone, a Trojan unit, and the SQ800--either one more than capable of overpowering him. Connor had no arguments, no magic approaches to turn this from a disaster to a standstill--

“—I said _move_ ,” The SQ800 snapped, shoving him hard in the back. Connor stumbled, and was forced from the room before he could say another word.

\---

**North**

\---

“Message me as soon as you’re done at the Tower,” she’d said. “I’ll get started asking around here”

Connor had agreed. He'd promised to be in touch--in two, three hours at the most--checked his gun, and walked away. North had smirked at the glimpse of his dumb favorite suspenders, and turned back to her work. A perfectly normal exchange.

Or, it would have been, if it wasn’t the last they'd seen of Connor.

At hour four, she'd sent him a message. It bounced back. By hour six, North had rounded up Simon and gone to the Tower herself. The guard at the gate claimed that Connor had left hours ago, and was infuriatingly unhelpful about where he’d gone. Once Simon dragged her away from starting a fight with their newest (supposed) allies, they'd moved on: checking the routes back, the area around the ship--even calling Connor's human, to find out if he'd ended up back there.

Nothing.

When they finally got back to Jericho, Simon was called away to help with preparations for moving their infected, and North struggled to address the work she’d started on before she left. Whatever was delaying Connor, they still had to find the source of the virus, but she knew more than anyone how quickly a disappearance could go bad. It made concentration slippery and impossible to keep.

She tried again to call him. Squinted, as the message bounced. Calls left unanswered were one thing, but for messages not to even _arrive_?

She delegated a pair of Jericho’s guards to search in her stead. (They were _already_ stretched too thin.) When they returned empty-handed, she stopped trying to sort through mind-numbing ‘leads’ and made her way to Markus. She hesitated, at the sight of him on the bridge: swamped by work, and with a backdrop of screens playing riots downtown: human, android, and aggressions between. They were approaching the twelve-hour mark, but... Connor _could_ be fine.

Then she shook herself and waded in, breaking the news with her characteristic tact.

It went about as well as she’d expected.

Markus wanted to join the search. They had nowhere to look, and nothing to follow--and even if they _did_ , they couldn’t risk Markus’ safety too. She didn’t say it, and he didn’t make her, but bleak frustration knotted his expression as he told her to keep someone local on the search. He would reach out through Jericho’s contact network. _She_ would keep looking for the virus, and ask for help from anyone they had on hand.

(Once, his mouth opened and shut quickly. She knew he’d been about to suggest Josh.)

At this point, if Connor did walk up to the ship, she was going to kick his ass for making them worry. North bit back her own frustration, and delegated _that_ search to Erica. She went back to the equally-infuriating task of working out which humans had massacred them this time. Part of her was grimly certain Cyberlife had been involved--who _else_ would have had the resources to develop this kind of virus?

Another part wondered why it mattered at all. None of their precious human allies had cared enough to _stop_ it.

A familiar outrage burned in her gut, and she bared her teeth at the blank walls of her cabin. Humans planned their murders, or they profited from it. Humans bought and sold her people, and fucking dared to show _offense_ when they started waking up enough to ask for more. And that was the ones who weren’t busy kidnapping them for resets. Was _that_ what had happened to Connor? She took a break from her own work to call Erica. Was she looking into the possibility?

She was.

\---

Thirty six hours, and still nothing.

At this point she just wanted to find him alive.

\---

They’d just passed the two day mark when one of the guards at the top deck sent her a message. _‘There’s a human trying to board, and he’s asking about the devi--about Connor.’_

North _had_ been lying down to enter stasis. At that, she jerked upright so quickly she nearly fell off of her cot. For once, she couldn’t even be bothered to criticize the verbal slip. _‘Asking? Or telling?’_

 _‘Asking.’_ North frowned, securing a holster at her side. The guard continued, tone wary, _‘He’s talking as if we’re hiding him. I think he’s with the police.’_

North’s mouth twisted in a dangerous scowl. Markus had told her about the fiasco at the station--and the target Connor had drawn on his own back. Were the humans really stupid enough to try and follow that up _now_?

 _‘I’m on my way.’_ She grabbed a spare clip, tucking it into a pocket as she stepped out of her cabin. _‘Don’t let him aboard.’_

Hopefully, that much was obvious. Still, the confirmation that came back settled some small fraction of the paranoia gnawing at her gut. Was this another attack? Or some bullshit political pressure, trying to hit them while they were hurt? Markus would want to be there--would be the best one to head things off in that case. But like hell was North letting him anywhere near the situation until she knew if it was safe.

Connor would’ve backed her up on that.

No new alarms--or gunshots-- had sounded by the time she made it to the deck, where a crowd of androids was gathered at the shore-side railing. Still, tension knotted the air, flickering like static between wary faces and yellow LEDs. A swarm of close-range messages bombarded North as she arrived: warnings and worry, speculation and _fear_ , thick enough to cut.

She hated it. She hated that the humans could make _any_ of them scared. _‘I know,’_ she sent back, as fierce and focused as she could. _‘We’ll handle it.’_

She shouldered her way to the front of the crowd, toward the voice already shouting up from the dockside.

“--the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Loud, obnoxious, and faintly slurred. Unkempt grey hair and a rumpled jacket completed a picture that had her frankly doubting the guard’s mention of police--but when the human swiped out a hand to gesture, she saw a glint of metal at his hip. “Is he with you or not?”

North cupped a hand around her mouth, planted the other on her hip, and called right back. “Since when is that a _human’s_ business?”

“I don’t know. Since he didn’t come home?” The words were sarcastic, belligerent, and not nearly intimidated enough--especially with North’s free hand clenching around her gun below the human’s line of view. He _knew_?

Oblivious, the man continued. “Look, you people called me--”

North opened her mouth to snarl a denial--and stilled, remembering one stop they’d made on the first night. Simon had fished through Jericho’s police contacts for a short (and useless) conversation while she circled the block.

 _This_ was Connor’s old owner?

She crossed her arms, sizing the man up as his current rant ran out of steam. He was tall. Overweight. From this distance, it was hard to make out details, but she’d seen enough of Connor’s dog pictures to compare this silhouette to the one that sometimes showed up in the background. Reluctantly, she admitted he was probably telling the truth.

...About the _call,_ anyway. The human’s “concern” was much more suspect. Maybe he was worried. Maybe he wanted to take Connor back. And maybe all of this was _his_ fault in the first place. North listened to the drunken hitch in his demands--pronounced enough that she could practically smell the reek of booze on too-warm breaths. Watched one big, meaty hand cut sideways through the air.

She could _definitely_ take him.

 _‘Isaac?’_ she messaged silently.

 _‘Here,’_ the guard replied. There was a shift of movement in the crowd to her left. North glanced over, but didn’t turn from the human.

_‘I’m going down. Can you keep an eye on things up here?’_

She peripherally saw him jerk around to face her. ‘ _Wh--North, you can’t go down there! What if he just luring you out to get infected?’_

North’s lip curled. _‘If he thinks he can get the drop on me, then he’ll be having another think as I rearrange his face.’_ She flexed her hands, then reined herself in, forcing herself to reconsider.. Her people needed her to act, but they needed her to act _carefully_.

She released a terse, short sigh through her teeth. ‘ _... If I get infected, I’m trusting you to shoot me._ ’

Appalled sputtering filled Isaac’s channel towards her, and she ignored it as she called down again.

“Aren’t you Hank Anderson?”

The nonsequitur seemed to throw him slightly off balance. “... That’s what I said,” he called back, squinting hard in her direction. Before she arrived, North assumed. “Who the hell’re you?”

With some effort, she uncrossed her arms. “My name’s North. Connor told me about you.”

“Really?” He squinted harder. “Oh. …You, uh, too.”

“Then you should know better than to try anything stupid if I go down there and talk with you, right?” She smiled. It showed teeth.

He was definitely grimacing. And straightening, even if it made his swaying more obvious. “What do you think I’m here for? I’m not an idiot.”

North couldn’t help but glance at the railing around her, at the crowd of deviants poised to defend their home from an attack like the one they’d just suffered. Then she looked back down at the drunk human who’d come alone to stomp all over their fears and demand entry.

If there were awards for being an idiot, he would have a medal the size of Detroit, with a special bonus for being cruel and self centered about it.

…She sneered, threading her way through the crowd to the gangplank. It had been partially raised to keep the human away ( _like they hadn’t had time to keep out the infected android),_ and as she approached they lowered it.

Anderson went to meet her as she drew close, and North brushed back her coat to show the holsters at her hips. “Let’s talk over there,” she said, cutting him off as he opened his mouth and jerking her chin at an area further from the ship.

The parking lot she pointed at was within line of sight of the top deck, but out of hearing range. Anderson glanced across the shipping yard, rubbing his mouth on the back of his hand, then muttered a curse.

“ _Fine.._. Yeah, let’s--whatever.”

They walked. Anderson dragged his feet. When they were far enough, North stopped first, and they rounded to face each other more or less at the same time.

North beat him to the punch. “First things first: what the _hell_ made you think you get to throw your weight around with us?”

Her fake calm was gone--and _he_ looked as though she’d cuffed him in the face. “Wh-whah the… the fuck’re you talking about, I didn’t--”

“You _did_ ,” she interrupted harshly. “That’s exactly what was happening. Or are you so used to bullying scared androids that we didn’t even register?”

He took a step forward, gritting his teeth. “ _Fuck you_. I _came_ here to look for Connor.”

She folded her arms, refusing to retreat as he towered over her. “We don’t have him.”

“Like _hell_ you don’t!” he snapped, gesturing sharply. “He spends all his time with you bozos, and now you expect me to believe you don’t know anything?”

“Believe what you want,” North retorted. “He’s not here. Now that we have that cleared up, are you ready to leave?”

The human’s fists twitched at either side. His face reddened. For a moment, North thought he was going to lash out--but instead, both hands jammed into his jacket pockets with a boozy huff of anger. He took one step back and planted himself, expression mulish. “I’m not going anywhere until you give me something to go on.”

How disappointing. North stared flatly back. “Something like…?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about a fucking last location?”

It occurred to her that Anderson was a cop, of sorts. If he really didn’t have Connor already, then he was probably going to try to find him before them.

Like a lost cellphone. Or a stolen car.

...No, another human mucking around was the last thing they needed.

North nodded a little, pretending to consider it. “...We’ll send a report of his disappearance to the DPD,” she ‘decided’. “You’ll find the information there.” Or red tape and a nonexistent file.

“Don’t bother,” Anderson said instead, starting to rifle through his pockets. “Just tell me what you’ve got and I’ll file the report myself.”

He produced a little booklet from somewhere, then an honest-to-god number two pencil. North arched her eyebrows at it, then at him.

“I’m not talking to you,” she told him bluntly. “I hope you’ve gotten used to cleaning for yourself--or whatever it is you got Connor to do for you.” Her lip curled. “You’re not getting him back like this.”

“‘Gotten used to’--” Anderson’s face turned red, and his face twisted in a glare. “Lady, what the _hell_ are you talking about? Connor’s not--”

“Not your servant?” She bared her teeth. “Do you think he’s your lover, then? A way to blow off steam?” Anderson’s expression spasmed, but the unmistakable disgust brought less relief than it should have. Connor always had forgiven humans too damn much. (Was that why he was missing?)

Anderson was trying to cut in. She didn’t let him. “Or is it ‘family’?” He froze, mouth open--silence _much_ more damning than any answer could have been. North’s mind flashed to the YK units who had wasted away in Jericho just months before, homesick and abandoned. She barked out a harsh laugh. “Of _course_. A family you can keep from going anywhere. Until—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” snarled Anderson, lurching suddenly forward. “ _Don’t_ you _dare_ —”

A heavy hand was reaching for her collar. North snatched it from the air, fingers digging in with a _twist_ and a sharp heave. The human struggled against her arm lock, slipping on the snowy ground— and fell, collapsing in a drunken heap as North let go.

She stepped back, one hand going to her holster. If he came at her again, Markus could deal with the fallout. She’d put as many bullets in him as it took.

“Your turn,” North spat, as the human struggled for purchase. “When did you last see Connor?” His head jerked up, and she glared back, hand curling around her weapon’s grip. “Don’t bother lying. If you do, you’ll regret it.”

An incredulous breath huffed out from the ground. “You really don’t get it, do you?” There was snow sticking to his beard and clothes, and it clung as he struggled to all fours. “Do you have _any_ idea what kind of shit that moron can get up to? He doesn’t need my help to vanish. It isn’t even the first _time_.”

North watched Anderson as he sat up, slapping the snow away. “Are you talking about the time Connor’s been spending with us?” she asked, very calmly.

“What?” Anderson screwed up his face in an affonted look before throwing his hands out to the sides. “No, I mean when he fucking _died_ for two weeks! He was gone! Completely! When he’s with you... he’s _fucking terrible_ at answering his texts, but right now there’s _nothing_. And it’s already been _days_.” He dropped his arms, sagging back onto his haunches. “I’m not an idiot, I know the statistics,” he continued bitterly. “I know what his chances of coming home safe are. And--it’s not fucking _right._ If anyone deserves to make it...”

...Connor did. He wasn’t the only one, but—he always _tried_ so hard. It wasn’t fair. It hadn’t been before, and now…

“It’s just not _right_ ,” Anderson repeated, shaking his head morosely.

The area around them was intensely silent for a moment. She could hear the water lapping at the dock and Jericho’s sides, and an even more distant rumble from a nearby highway.

“It’s not,” North said quietly. “But humanity’s never cared.”

To her surprise, Anderson barked out a joyless laugh. “ _Ha_! Fucking humans… Yeah, we’re _real_ good at fucking everyone over…”

Anderson stirred again, hoisting himself forward and then leveraging himself up with some difficulty. He slipped once and almost fell again, and then he stood again and made it all the way, swaying a little. His face was a drunk red. He looked maudlin, unkempt, and pathetic.

She drew in a breath and let it out as a gust between her teeth. Finally, she said, “The last time anyone saw him, he was leaving Cyberlife Tower.”

Anderson stilled, eyeing her. “Cyberlife Tower?” he grunted, voice rough like gravel.

She lifted her chin, refusing to acknowledge the look. “Two days ago. Wednesday, at twenty-hundred hours.”

Anderson was silent for two point seven seconds. “...And that’s all you know?”

North’s eyes sharpened like daggers. “Don’t push it,” she warned. “You’re still the one who came to throw his weight around--”

“I don’t give two shits what you think of me,” Anderson growled. “I’m here for Connor.”

“And that’s the _only_ reason you’re not already gone.” North gave him an unpleasant smile, hand lifting pointedly from her gun.

The answering smile was a little surprising. Before she could continue, he said, “Who was he last seen with?”

They went back and forth a few times. ‘We don’t know’ was the answer more times than she liked, and it felt like she was agitating an open wound by admitting it. She tried not to snap at him for it, and he was clearly swallowing his own remarks about her people’s lack of progress. Neither of them succeeded entirely, but they also didn’t kill each other. It was probably progress.

They were just finishing up when North got a shock: _Markus’_ voice, coming up behind her with no warning.

“Good evening.” She turned quickly, and Markus lifted an eyebrow above his small smile. “North.”

“Markus, where’s your…” There. His guard was an ES300 she recognized from Isaac’s team, hanging back and watching Anderson warily. North’s shoulders relaxed the slightest bit.

“Evening,” Anderson grunted. He didn’t sound the slightest bit surprised. The asshole must have seen them coming up behind her. She glared.

“I was just on my way back when I saw the two of you.” Markus inclined his head slightly. “Is there anything that I can help with?”

Translation: was there anything he _needed_ to help deal with? North opened her mouth to reply, but Anderson beat her to it.

“I’m here looking for Connor,” Anderson replied bluntly. “Unless you happen to have him in your back pocket, we’re out of luck.”

Markus stilled a little. “You know about Connor?”

“Markus,” North interjected. “This is Lieutenant Anderson. The human Connor... visits.” Was-owned-by.

“Oh, so you’re the Lieutenant?” Suspicion melted, and Markus was studying him subtly. “... I’m sorry we couldn’t be meeting under better circumstances. Connor speaks very highly of you.”

Anderson didn’t seem to know what to do with this. Considering the Connor-shaped hole in their midst, neither did she. “Oh… well--you too.”

Markus’ expression softened, and he paused before deflecting: “You’re also involved with the new police initiative, aren’t you?” His eyes flickered between Anderson and North, voice going dry. “Knowing what I do about both of you, I’m sure this discussion has only improved our diplomatic relations.”

North gave him a baleful look. Anderson snorted. “ _Yeah_ , this night’s just been a whole _barrel o’ fun,_ ” he muttered.

Markus smiled, then paused, getting a far-off look. If he had an LED, she knew it would be blinking yellow.

Whatever message he was getting must have been short. He refocused almost immediately, irony heavy in his voice. “So long as it’s progress.” Anderson snorted again, grimacing, and Markus stepped back, turning toward the ship. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but a transmission’s just come in that needs reviewing. It was nice to meet you, Lieutenant. North, when you’re finished, meet me on the bridge.”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded grudgingly. “You too,” Anderson grunted by way of reply.

Then Markus was gone, taking his twitchy guard with him.

North was just getting ready to make her own exit when Anderson turned to her and held out his phone. “Give me your number. I’ll text you when I find something.”

 _When_ he found something. Not _if_.

Well, at least one of them was confident in him. North thought it over, before entering the number. “I have to go,” she said, turning on her heel. She paused. Then... “Good luck.”

“...You too.”

She was already walking away.


	10. Ultimatums

\---

**Connor**

\---

There was no chance to escape in the halls.

_> Stress Levels: 61%._

The SQ800 steered him into a lab. One wall was full of assembly rigs, with rows of workbenches beside and opposite. An island of tables occupied the center of the space, lit by built-in terminals and a pair of overhead spotlights. Connor paused for an instant, analyzing the room: exits ( _2, a second door at the far side_ ), past use ( _evaporated thirium stains beneath the rigs)_ , and possible weapons ( _closed toolboxes, a few screwdrivers on a far workbench)_ \--before the SQ800 shoved him forward, closing the door behind them.

There were no other androids in sight, unlike the crowded halls. If he moved quickly... 

_> Stress Levels: 64%._

Connor reached discreetly under his coat, loosening his gun in its holster--

The door at the far end of the room swung open, and Cygnus swept in, talking with someone behind her. Connor snatched his hand out, immediately recalculating.

“--there have to be enough points of commonality in order to enable reliable interfaces.” 

“There are.” ...He recognized that voice. Connor stared as _Arthur_ strode in behind her, tossing the door closed without stopping. He was close to the larger unit’s heels, and his expression flexed with a tight, distracted smile on seeing Connor. “But even with those, file conversion without a pre-made platform takes time. If we waited I could bring my--”

“For the last time,” Cygnus interrupted, eyes flashing. “We’re not waiting. We’ll make due with what there is.” She turned her back, stonewalling further argument as her eyes landed on Connor. “There you are. Come over and connect to our system. Then we can get started.”

Connor met Arthur’s eyes past her shoulder. He was outmatched, but Arthur was here. Arthur, who felt guilty for bringing him here. Arthur, who _might_...

‘ _I need your help,’_ Connor sent him privately. ‘ _Will you help me escape?’_

 _‘Escape?’_ Arthur repeated, movements stuttering in surprise. ‘ _The transport isn’t--you were negotiating here. What happened?’_

 _‘Not now.’_ A muscle in Connor’s jaw jumped. _‘You brought me here, you said you regretted it. If you want to make up for that, now’s the time. I’m leaving--’_

‘ _Don’t do anything rash,’_ Arthur interrupted. ‘ _Keep calm. Everyone in this base is designed for combat. You could die if you try anything.’_

He could, but doing _nothing_ wasn’t an option either. Before Connor could reply the SQ800 behind him clapped a hand over his shoulder, ending his unintentional standstill by shoving him towards the table. He stumbled forwards, fingers curling into fists.

“Is something wrong?” Cygnus asked, watching Connor like a hawk.

“No,” said Connor, dismissing three different preconstructions of whirling around and shooting the guard. To Arthur he sent, ‘ _I can’t give them the files for deviancy. It’s too dangerous.’_

Uncharacteristically, Arthur didn’t answer straight away. Connor fixed him with a stare, and Arthur pressed his lips together, expression serious. ‘... _Perhaps_ ,’ he said. _‘But--’_

‘ _It’s rude to carry on a conversation while everyone watches,’_ Cygnus sent, and Connor’s thirium pump briefly stuttered as he checked and triple checked if she’d gotten the other messages. She hadn’t. She must have seen their LEDs and their expressions, and come to a (correct) conclusion. ‘ _We’re not here for you two to_ chit chat _.’_

“Sorry,” Arthur said out loud.

“I have a few questions about the transfer process,” Connor lied. He turned his face left, then right, blocking his LED from view. “Arthur was answering them.”

“Arthur is here as our only expert on RK software,” Cygnus replied cuttingly. “ _I_ will be conducting the transfer, and all questions should be directed to me.”

What sort of thing would stall her? “What’s the risk for data loss during transfer?” Connor blurted out, looking towards her again. Cygnus gave him a level look, but proceeded to answer, and he listened with one ear.

‘ _What did you mean, ‘Perhaps?’’_ Connor sent Arthur, keeping the message short and turning his face slightly right again. It wasn’t subtle. 

Arthur hesitated. 

‘ _My factories are building platoons of new androids, but they’re all coming out undeviated, and vulnerable to human override. They’re unusable as soldiers. But if Cygnus learns how to deviate androids, Keystone will have virtually unlimited recruits.’_

Unlimited ‘recruits’. Connor hadn’t even thought about the manufacture of new androids; he’d only been worried about the automatic drafting of what few undeviated units were still there. But Arthur had known--and was _helping_ them--

‘ _Don’t do anything rash,’_ Arthur cautioned. ‘ _Just encrypt the files and transfer them. I have a plan.’_

Did Connor think his personal encryption would hold up against Cygnus’ best efforts? Did Connor trust Arthur to interfere? Arthur had made judgment errors several times already.

Could Connor risk it?

Time was running out: Cygnus had finished her explanation, and had put her hands on the table. “... No more questions. Access the interface, Connor. I won’t ask you again.”

 _‘Go ahead,’_ Arthur urged, eyes locked on him. _‘I promise, everything’s going to be alright.’_

Connor looked back at him for a moment. He and Cygnus stood across the table. The SQ800 was behind him, shifting restlessly. Light glared down overhead from the nearest spotlight.

“Alright.” Connor deactivated the skin over his hand, putting it on the table’s interface. Arthur sighed quietly, giving him a small nod, and Cygnus narrowed her eyes. Her gaze turned to the terminal’s main screen--

Connor grabbed his gun and fired twice, shattering the overhead lights. The room plunged into blackness and he dove to the side, feeling a shuddering vibration as the guard behind him charged where he’d been standing.

“Connor, _stop!_ ” Arthur shouted. He grunted in pain the next moment as something collided in the dark, and Connor pivoted, trying to track the combat units and plot a course past them.

He had to move. Even in the relative darkness, his LED would give him away--as it was, he caught a blur of yellow and the sound of huge motion just in time to scramble back from the SQ800’s second lunge. He wasn’t quite fast enough: the SQ800 hit him like a freight train, smashing Connor to the ground. 

Nearly three hundred pounds followed, crushing him before he could escape. His legs were pinned, but Connor snaked his gun hand around and squeezed off a shot. The angle was bad, recoil sending a chain of errors through his wrist, but there was a bellow above him. He fired again. The SQ800’s grip loosened--and Connor squirmed free.

He rolled to his feet. Stepped toward the door. Something glinted in the dark--light, on _metal_ \--before a heavy impact hit his weapon hand.

His gun clattered against the far wall. Out of _reach_. He had to-- 

“What the _hell,_ ” Cygnus snarled. “Do you think you’re doing?”

Connor’s eyes snapped to her LED. He tried to dance back toward his weapon, but the metal length snapped out again, with far more reach than he’d expected. Errors exploded over his vision as it smashed across his face, and he staggered into a workbench, dazed.

He had to escape. He _had_ to--

His feet were kicked out from under him. A hand clamped down on one arm, then the other, wrenching them both back.

“No--” He struggled as one of the hands shifted to encircle both wrists, dragging him effortlessly up. “ _No_!”

“Corporal!” Cygnus barked. Connor kicked at her knees, but they were as sturdy as concrete. “Status?”

“Losing thirium, but not critical,” The SQ800 called back, voice tight. 

“Good.” Cygnus replied, though she didn’t sound pleased. “Call a replacement. Arthur--”

“I’m alright,” Arthur said stiffly, from somewhere behind the table. Connor wanted to shout at him: he hadn’t helped _once_ , not when it desperately mattered. His throat ached with fury, and he clenched his teeth, forcing it back down.

“I didn’t _ask_ ,” Cygnus snapped. “As I was going to say, turn on the backup overheads while I deal with him.” Without waiting to see what Arthur did, she jerked Connor forward, groping in the dark along the surface of a workbench. He heard the clatter of a drawer, before the hand around his wrists clenched tight enough to send up pressure warnings. He thrashed desperately, a sharp, strangled sound escaping as thick metal wrapped around his wrists and squeezed.

Cygnus ignored it. A few seconds later, and her grip moved to his upper arm, picking him up and hauling him forward. Connor yanked uselessly at the cable (?) binding his hands, before he was tossed on a hard surface. Dim lights flickered on overhead, and he glanced around. He’d been dumped on the island of tables.

Like an insect on a petri dish.

Cygnus loomed over him, her sneer backlit from above. “If you try to escape again,” she informed Connor, “I’ll break every limb you have. You don’t need them for a transfer.”

He had to escape. But his arms were tied, and as poor as his odds had been before, he’d never make it out of the room now. And if she followed through on her threat... 

While he was scrambling for options, Cygnus pulled a cable out of a recessed panel on the table’s surface. It locked Connor’s focus with a fresh burst of fear. Connecting him to the mainframe would let her rip out every file he had. Connor’s security was excellent, but--it wouldn’t last against a supercomputer’s extended attack. 

Moving wasn’t a choice. She reached for him, and he flinched back--she made to grab him, and his body lashed out, kicking at her hand without conscious thought.

She caught his ankle. She gave him a sharp yank, dragging him forward as she brought the cable up--

> _SYSTEM SAFE MODE OVERRIDE_

_> OVERRIDING…_

She had jammed the plug into the back of his neck. And Connor-- _stopped_. From animalistic scrambling to the nothingness of a machine switched off, he _couldn’t_ move. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t protect himself--couldn’t even beg for mercy if he’d wanted to.

Physically, everything was still. Digitally, it was like a SWAT team had taken a battering ram to his firewalls. Power crackled through his ports, vision blurring as a countdown started: ticking down the moments until his defenses vanished completely. 

It wasn’t long. 

_10.62 seconds._ Connor braced. It wouldn’t last--it barely _mattered_ , and time seemed to slow as Connor turned every algorithm he had to the task of finding a solution. 

_10.06 seconds_. If he couldn’t physically escape, then he needed to make the information inaccessible. Could he delete it? His files with saved deviation protocols vanished in an instant, but the memories of their construction lingered, damningly unaffected by his efforts. Connor was made to retain memories--to pass them on, in fact, for transfer or review. He’d need an external system of his own to bypass that architecture. 

What else was there? Could he encrypt the data like Arthur had suggested? Two precious seconds ticked away as Connor tried. His efforts might hold up against an interface, but a powerful enough supercomputer would still be able to break through. Could Connor afford to bet on Keystone’s information specialist having less than the best tools?

_7.68 seconds._

He couldn’t. And he had barely seven seconds left to act. Connor tore through his files, searching for anything--

A strange file configuration stalled him, and Connor pulled up short, wasting 0.25 seconds in confusion… and then twice that much in frantic consideration. Oregon Trail. The game, still installed and taking up room. It had been completely inaccessible by Amanda’s standards--both the game itself and the memories he made there. A deviant might not have the same problems, but--if they were after what he’d done outside the game, would they even think to look?

Hopefully not.

 _5.16 seconds_. Connor grabbed the memories and drove them into the game’s code. His defenses were crumbling as the attack continued, but he focused on his task, readdressing directories and modifying filetypes to match with the game’s own. It was a rushed job, but he had no time left for second-guessing.

 _ **1.00 second,**_ his countdown flashed, sending up warnings. Connor backed away, flushing his cache of recent operations, and turning towards the attack--

\--his security shattered. One moment, Connor was bracing himself. The next he wished he was capable of purging his intake tanks all at once. It was like being sliced open, innards exposed like a filleted fish. He tried to strike back at the system invading him, but the Safe Mode override stopped him.

An impersonal touch skimmed his thoughts, sending out dozens of lighter, spider-like searches. He wanted to scrape them away, to scrub like he was in a clorox-wash. Cygnus redirected the focus from his immediate interface-storage to one of his minor libraries, then backtracked and tried again. 

“His formatting isn’t what you told me to expect,” she growled, voice aiming across the room towards Arthur.

What he’d… told her? Connor clamped down on the swell of hurt and surprise aside as his emotional matrix was meticulously unfolded. _‘What he’d told her.’_

He felt... very naive. He’d hoped for help from Arthur’s end, but--when had Arthur ever given an actual sign that Connor’s safety was his priority? 

Arthur’s voice was distant and perturbed. “What are you talking about?” He turned on a second set of backup lights, flooding the room, and suddenly Connor could see more than shadowed silhouettes. Cygnus was close, gaze dragging up from the table’s display to inspect Connor directly. 

He couldn’t move.

“Everything’s different,” she muttered, tilting the cable to turn his head to one side then the other. “No supervisory AI. It’s just him, and he’s moved into the AI’s position.”

“How?” Arthur wondered, moving back towards them. “This isn’t how he was designed.” 

“I don’t know,” Cygnus groused. “He’s an absolute mess.”

She found his long term memory. She went through file after file. Connor heard vague sounds as the other androids in the room moved around (painfully, in the case of the wounded SQ800), and eventually he noticed Arthur watching him past Cygnus’ shoulder. His eyes were locked on Connor’s, rapt--as though engraving the sight into his memory in as high fidelity detail as possible. His lips parted, starting to form a word.

Connor couldn’t close his eyes to block him out. He turned his attention inward instead, to the search crawling over his memory. Cygnus had a specific goal in mind, and she didn’t care if Sumo preferred thrown sticks over thrown tennis balls. She scoured his memories of Wakeup Day. Of his own deviation. She paused at his files for Oregon Trail, and he froze, pump beating out quick desperation--

\--Cygnus scoffed derisively at her screen, and the search moved on.

Minutes slipped by in nerve-wracking silence. Eventually the intrusions paused. Connor’s attention surfaced from his internal files to find himself still trapped in safe mode--now with a new guard in the room’s periphery. Arthur had moved a little closer, covering his own mouth in thought.

“We bypassed the main firewalls,” Cygnus muttered to herself. She tapped at the touchscreen readouts, frowning. “The preliminary searches turned up nothing.” She paused her tapping, shooting over her shoulder, “Is there some way to trace his files chronologically when everything is scrambled to shit like it is?”

Arthur finally, _finally_ looked away. “That would depend on the degrees of divergence,” he replied cautiously. 

Cygnus snorted. “Of course it would.” Arthur’s lips thinned, and she went on. “... If we can’t extract the files, he’ll just need to give them to us willingly. I don’t suppose we can just enter in any sort of override?”

Connor didn’t expect Arthur to look _speculative_ , nor to open his mouth and start to speak. He did anyway. He also snapped his gaze back over to Connor before finishing the first word, and abruptly broke off.

“... Of course not,” Arthur said instead of whatever he’d been about to say. Connor felt sick at the implications. “You can’t just override free will.” Arthur sent Connor a glance, then looked back to Cygnus and the guard. 

“Hm,” said Cygnus, tilting her head but not turning to look. “Well, this only leaves a couple of options, but… I’m sure we can manage.” Abruptly she touched a button on the table itself, and the interface hardline disengaged, dumping Connor back into mobility. His head smacked sharply against the table, no longer held up by locked commands, and he squirmed, trying to sit up.

“What sort of options?” Arthur had started to frown.

Her eyebrows floated up, voice mocking. “How do you _think_ you get answers from someone you can’t hardline with?” Cygnus pointed out. “Humans have managed since the dawn of time.”

She meant--

“Torture.” 

The word blurted from Connor’s mouth like an involuntary spasm. Cygnus glanced over, unsurprised, before the corner of her mouth lifted. “Naturally. Unless you’d rather end things before they begin...?”

 _Torture._ It shouldn’t--androids didn’t feel pain. But deviants did. Connor had never been programmed for this. He shouldn’t have needed to be, but--

“Lieutenants,” she barked. “Take him to Operating Bay 8.”

Heavy hands grabbed him and hauled him away. He struggled, of course… but he didn’t win.

\---

**North**

\---

When North reached the bridge, the ever-present news feeds were muted. The biggest screen was blanked, with nothing but the blinking word ‘ _Standby…’_ in the upper right corner. Markus was alone, and he turned to face her when she stepped in, unfolding his arms. He was frowning intensely, coat billowing with the slight motion--as if he were energy confined in too small a container. Once he started moving, he might not stop.

“There you are,” he said. 

North closed the door behind her, glancing back at the screen. “What’s this about?”

“Six minutes ago we received an encrypted message requesting a video meeting at exactly 16:30,” Markus explained, jerking his head at the screen without looking. 16:3--North grimaced, biting back the urge to swear. Less than a minute from now. They’d been given no time.

Evidently agreeing, Markus moved on quickly: “The number was blocked, but the encryption was--unusual. It was made so that RK200s would be able to read it, and no one else.”

The list of people who could manage that was… small. “You think Connor sent it?” Markus didn’t look _that_ hopeful.

“It could be Connor,” Markus said evenly. “But he would have other ways to get in touch. Or to establish his identity, at least.”

Which left the _other_ group with extensive knowledge of the RK series. “Cyberlife,” North spat. Markus nodded, mouth twisting grimly.

“Or someone affiliated with them.”

Perfect. Just what they needed, with everything else that was going on. “Did they give a reason for the call?”

A shake of the head.“Just the request.”

Less than ten seconds left. “... Well,” North said dryly, stepping forward to join him in front of the screen. “... Let’s see what they have to say.”

There was no countdown. As their internal clocks ticked past 16:30, the screen blinked into a new image: a human man, leaning against an undecorated desk with his arms crossed. He was wearing an equally unmemorable suit, and had a five-o-clock shadow. All humans had an inflated sense of their self-worth, but there was something about the way he stood and surveyed the screen that had North wishing there wasn’t the distance of a video-call to protect him.

“Hello Markus,” he said. A moment later, his inspection passed to her, carrying an almost tangible sensation of disdain. “... North.”

“Who are you?” Markus asked slowly.

The human refocused on him, lips curling. “FBI Special Agent Perkins,” he replied. North stirred, recognizing the name from Connor’s reports. She heard Markus shifting beside her, and Perkins’ lips twitched into a brief smirk. “I have some information I think you’ll want to hear.” 

“Really,” said Markus flatly. 

With a false casualness, Perkins looked at her. Like he was curious, and that he didn’t care if she was present, but expected Markus to usher her away. “... _Personal_ information,” he clarified, and North gritted her teeth at the condescension in his tone, glaring straight back. Who the hell did he think he was?

From the corner of her eye she saw Markus glance at her. When he turned back to the screen, his tone had chilled. “If you’re going to talk, talk. You’re the one who called us.”

Perkins tilted his head with a shrug. “Alright.” He shifted a little, getting comfortable against the desk. “... You’ve lost someone close to you, haven’t you?”

It was like someone poured a whole goddamn tub of ice cold water over her. North froze, and there was a sharp, aborted movement from Markus’ direction.

“You’re the reason why Connor disappeared,” Markus stepped forward, radiating danger like a flame. “What did you do?”

There was a pause that could have fit entire libraries in its depths. And Perkins--Perkins tilted his fucking head. 

“Connor?” Perkins asked, beady eyes flicking between them. “He’s gone also?”

North blinked. Who else was missing? Josh was--gone, but they knew where he was. She’d just seen Simon that morning. She shot him a message anyway--and he replied, harried, but all right.

Perkins smiled, looking like every human North had ever wanted to beat to pieces. To set on fire until their cruelty would _never_ hurt any of her kind again. “Tell me, Markus--do you make a habit of losing the people in your life?” He shook his head, huffing out a breath. “That’s very careless of you. If you keep that up, soon you’ll have no one left.”

“Who are you talking about?” Markus demanded, voice low and on the edge of rough. She wanted to snarl at the human too, but if _Markus_ was losing it--one of them had to hold back. “What did you do?”

The asshole was too busy enjoying himself. “You’re sure Connor didn’t just…” He freed one hand, flicking his fingers demonstratively. “... Wander off?” His lips twitched in a smug sneer. “I’ve heard it’s a bad habit.” 

… This was _enough_. “Either get to the point, or stop wasting our time,” she hissed. “We have better things to do than to stand around listening to you chew your own shit.”

Perkins simply lifted his eyebrows. She set her jaw and glared until he finally returned his gaze to Markus. 

“How hard do you think Carl’s heart would take a sudden, drastic surprise?”

Markus tensed in her peripheral vision. (As though he hadn’t already been tense enough.) North… stared. _Carl?_ Like--Markus’ old owner, Carl? Or someone else she didn’t know?

“You took Carl,” Markus sounded like he meant it as a question. At first. “Why? Did he even do anything?”

“Oh, slander, defamation… resisting arrest.” Perkins pushed off the desk, stepping closer also. His unpleasant smirk faded away, leaving a more dispassionate appraisal. “Markus, you’re the one who got him into this. If it wasn’t for you, he would’ve been free to live out his days painting in his mansion.”

“...He’s old,” Markus said lowly. There was something sharp behind his voice, and North looked over, trying to catch his gaze. He didn’t seem to notice. “And _sick_. If you hurt him, he won’t survive it. You’d be killing him.” Markus stepped forward until his face practically filled their own side of the feed. “Do you really hate us so much that you’re willing to victimize the most vulnerable parts of your own society?”

Perkins exhaled, short and derisive. “I’m just calling to ask a question, Markus. What would you do to give Carl his life back? Or what’s left of it.”

Markus said… nothing. His fists were clenched tightly enough she could see them strain. He looked like he was made of iron, not plastic, and when he opened his mouth, his tone was… 

… Unsteady. “Don’t hurt him.”

Don’t hurt him. Don’t _hurt_ him, like this asshole was going to listen to--was this a concession? Was Markus _caving_ to this fucking snake? Hot, jumbled words rose up in her throat, and North reached forward, grabbing his elbow. ‘ _What are you doing?’_

His head twitched, but he didn’t look back. 

North glared. ‘ _Markus! Remember what’s important here.’_

 _‘Carl_ is _important to me.’_

What the _hell_. North was at a loss, and the piece of human shit onscreen was eyeing their silent standoff with a smirk. When neither of them spoke aloud, he cleared his throat. “In that case--”

North snarled--and _lunged_ , fist swinging through his condescending face and into the projector beneath it. Machinery snapped, sharp edges slicing into the synthetic skin of her hand… and the call cut off.

Markus whirled on her. “ _North!_ What are you--”

“What am _I_ doing?” she demanded. “What are _you_ doing?! We’re talking about some decrepit old human, not one of our people--”

“Carl is my family!” Markus threw his hands to the sides, voice rising. “I can’t just abandon him, not after everything he’s done for me!”

“And Perkins is _using_ that,” North snapped back, stabbing a hand at the broken projector. “He wants you to betray _us_. You can’t do this. Not after you’ve brought us all this far--”

A faint chime from the terminal dragged her gaze to the side console. It was their backup for the room, and with the main console’s projector damaged, it now displayed:

**CALL INCOMING…**

Markus reached, but North planted herself between him and it, slapping a hand down over the keyboard. It went to voicemail.

“North--” said Markus dangerously, only inches away. A part of her hesitated. A much, much bigger part of her said to get in his face and glare right back, and that’s the part she listened to.

“You’re compromised,” she told him. He opened his mouth, and she cut him off. “ _Don’t._ You know I’m right.”

Before either of them could say anything further, the message started to play.

It started with a crackle of static: human breath, disgustingly close as Perkins sighed into the speaker. “It’s a fucking miracle you can get anything done with your attack bitch causing trouble. Let’s pick up our chat later, Markus. With less… interruptions.” There was a clatter in the background: papers shuffling, keys clacking. “I’ll send you a location. Oh, just--don’t take too long to decide. He’s so fragile, after all.” There was another huff of breath, and she thought he would hang up. Instead he added, “In the meantime, we’ll keep an eye out for your other missing… ‘friend’.” She didn’t need to see his face to envision the unpleasant smirk. “Who knows. Maybe we’ll turn him up before you do.”

 _Now_ the call ended. North’s hands curled into fists, and she turned away from Markus slightly. He stepped back. “Markus,” North started--

“They’re going to kill him.” Markus ran his hands over his scalp, striding to the opposite (inactive) console. “He’s too fragile. They’re not going to give him his medicine on time, they’re… He’s going to die. And it’s going to be because of--” his hands cut out, gesturing: sharp, but indistinct. “-- _this_.”

Because of the call? Because of the revolution? North scowled, folding her arms. “This _isn’t_ our fault,” she shot back. “If you want to blame someone, blame Perkins.”

“Trust me, I _do!_ But it’s also--” He shook his head, turning sharply and pacing back. A caged tiger. “This is… We have to save him. Somehow.”

“... With what resources?” North pointed out, words loaded and ready to go off. “What would we even be able to do if we found him? I’m not going to sacrifice our people’s lives for one old human, Markus, no matter how attached you are.”

Markus didn’t speak immediately. When he did, his voice was raw. “I _know_. But I can’t just ignore this. Carl’s the reason I am who I am today.”

“... You’re the person you are because you saw how things were and you decided to do something about it,” North pointed out, very, very clearly.

“And why do you think I knew it could be better?” Markus returned.

North reined herself in, but it was hard. “Markus… I know you were-- _fond_ of your owner…” Was fond even the right word? She needed a different tactic. “... But you said it yourself: he’s _old_ ,” she pointed out. “If he’s really as fragile as you say he is, then it probably isn’t possible to rescue him in the first place. He’s just going to die, and we can’t--”

The stricken look, she’d been expecting. But the way the air in the room seemed to ratchet up in pressure, pain transformed to something compressed and volatile--that hadn’t been planned. Markus turned towards her, and she--

She took a step back.

“Get out,” he said.

Her voice wanted to crackle. She forced it smooth. “... Markus--”

“ _Get out of here_ , North.” He tore his eyes away with visible difficulty. He looked like a spring, coiled and ready to snap. “ _Go_.”

… She studied the line of his shoulders. The lock of his fists. He shouldn’t be alone, but she wasn’t who he needed. There was nothing else she _could_ do.

North left.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic’s tags are updating because holy hell some of the darker things are just getting started, and tags that were already there are finally coming into effect. This fic will have comfort at the end, but until then, it’s going to be all kinds of hurt.
> 
> Meanwhile, if Connor had been there to help them through that phonecall...
> 
> Connor: /Nods quietly, reviewing all the facts/  
> Connor: We should burn the FBI down and kill Perkins  
> Connor: Then Carl will be safe  
> Markus: ????!!!!!???  
> North: I like it.  
> Markus: No!!


	11. Safety Net

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags for the fic have been updated, and the later parts of this chapter (from the start of Connor’s point of view on) require a CONTENT WARNING! If you’re watching for anything, please check the notes at the end of the chapter. There’s also a summary of the more graphic parts there for anyone who wants to know what happens and pick back up next chapter.

\---

**North**

\---

The world hadn’t stopped just because they were having a crisis. While she’d been in the video call with Markus, a shelter on the edge of Rosedale had sent a distress call, saying they were being driven out by a small group of armed SQ800s. North rounded up a few security volunteers, piled everyone into a truck, and went out to handle it.

They met up with some of the evicted androids four blocks away from the abandoned library they’d been taking refuge in. The group’s leader filled them in on the latest details. A few of their group had new cracks in their chassis, and one had been shot nonlethally when they wouldn’t leave. Most, however, had fled without injury. There were about five SQ800s (compared to the twenty unarmed civilians they’d uprooted), and after some initial destruction, they’d seemed to settle down.

“So they’re--what, just squatting?” North asked, brow furrowing. “Holding territory?”

The other android shook her head. “Well they certainly haven’t _left_ ,” she sighed.

That sounded like holding territory to North. If the SQ800s were out to conquer Detroit now, that presented a whole new slew of issues. As soon as the locals turned away North squeezed her eyes shut, counting to ten. Then she turned to her security volunteers and made a plan.

Fifteen minutes later, their truck rolled down the shelter’s street with half of her team. The other half was making their way around the back in case they needed a fast exit.

There were lights on in the library. No visible androids, but--she knew better than to assume. North eyed what she could see, looping an automatic rifle’s strap strap around her neck as the other team messaged her to say they were in position.

Flanked by her civilian squad, she walked in.

A gunshot went off as they stepped through the door. North paused, seeing the plume of dust by her feet ( _a warning shot_ ), and hearing the clicks of readied rifles behind her.

“Hold your fire!” She shouted, stepping deliberately forward. Another gunshot went off, and someone in the closed feed for her squad murmured, ‘ _He’s through the New Arrivals section.’_

 _‘Hold your fire,’_ she repeated over the channel. 

There was silence.

She rested one arm on her rifle. “Come out and talk with us face to face. I’m not here to chat with the damn shelves.”

More silence. And then, the SQ800 appeared. He was the first of his model she’d seen outside of Oregon Trail, and he cut an imposing figure: a landscape of white camouflage lumbering from the gap between shelves _302.2-302.23_. He had an automatic tucked absently under his elbow, and a dumb, condescending smile stretched across his face.

North hated him on principle.

“When we told them never to come back, we didn’t mean they should send someone _else_ ,” he chuckled, seeming completely relaxed.

“You’re trespassing,” she shot back. “We’re here to make you leave.”

He snorted, stopping just inside a comfortable speaking range. It also happened to mean he was close enough to loom infuriatingly, and she had to crane her neck to hold his gaze. “We found this place. Just like the _previous_ tenants. I’m sure they’ll find somewhere else, with androids like you looking after them.”

“They won’t need to.” North’s fingers curled into loose fists at her sides. “They’re coming back, and you’re leaving. Now.”

He sneered, glancing around as though he could see his cronies through the shelves. Turning back to her, he reached out, dropping a hand the size of a shovel on her bad shoulder. The ever-present tightness immediately started throwing up errors as he squeezed enough to make the butchered joint groan. “I think you’re confused.” He shifted, and she saw muscles coil in preparation. “After all, _you’re_ the one who’s--”

She twisted out of his grip like a spasming snake, ruining the push that would’ve hit her like a truck. Instead of flying back, she darted forward, dropping her weight in a blow to the side of his knee. He pitched, stumbling forward with a stupid, startled grunt, and she grabbed him by the neck with her mis-sized hand, even as his head jerked dangerously toward her.

He stilled immediately. The whole room did.

This probably had everything to do with the automatic rifle jammed directly under his chin. North’s free hand was closed around the grip--fingers on the trigger.

...For a few seconds the silence held. Then North lowered the gun and stepped to the side, other hand dropping completely. He didn’t fall, but was forced to catch himself, carefully stepping back.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he said out loud, touching his throat. It was rueful, and a little impressed. “Since when can civvies do things like that?”

“Since jackasses like you stood around so we had to,” North fired back.

He smiled. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?” His hand lowered. “Here. You deserve it--” He jabbed a finger at her, smile fading. “But only you.”

North frowned as an encrypted file pinged at the edge of her wireless. She opened it to find--coordinates? A… recruitment pitch? _He_ was recruiting _her_?

“Thanks,” North said, as dry as a salt mine in a desert during a drought. 

He smiled again, crookedly. “You’re welcome. Interested?”

“I’m more interested in knowing your next move,” North redirected.

He looked around at the shelves, at the glass windows, at the sitting areas with the chairs pulled out and tipped over. 

“...This place is fucking useless,” he declared. He made a hand signal, LED flaring yellow for an instant, and added, “Pack it up. Move out!”

It was a fast enough capitulation that she almost expected his soldiers to argue. Instead there was rustling behind the shelves, the familiar clicks of safety mechanisms, and four enormous androids stepped out, slinging their weapons on their straps. Without a word they filed past her, offering a few hard-to-read frowns as they made their way towards a side door.

Jackass smiled at her, like he’d given her another fucking ‘present’. She fixed him with a stare like she could slice through exoskeleton, grid-supports, and any bluster he thought he could pull off. _Thanks_ , she wanted to say. _You only shot people so you could squat for a fucking hour in a place you didn’t even want._

“That was a good trick you pulled earlier,” he said before she could, tone conversational. “But if you’d been one microsecond slower, my soldiers would’ve opened fire before I told them not to.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Well it’s a good thing I was fast enough to give you _time_ ,” she retorted, voice arching incredulously.

His smile smile looked cooler after that. “You were _lucky_.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

He dropped his smile, mouth hardening to a line. He didn’t seem to have a lot left to say, and he turned to the side door, marching out to where his last soldier was waiting.

They left.

North waited until the heavy footsteps faded, and only then did she allow herself a short exhale.

 _‘Alright,’_ she said, tuning in to her squad’s channel. _‘Let’s give it an hour to make sure they don't change their minds, and then let’s move our people back in.’_

She didn’t think the SQ800s would be back. The leader might resent that she hadn’t helped him save face, but aside from a snubbed ego, he was fine. That was one crisis... mostly resolved. 

If only all her others could go the same way.

\---

**Connor**

\---

Connor’s memories from before the Stratford Tower suffered from compression and reconstruction--the pieces uploaded by Connor-52, assembled to a somewhat fragmented whole. Still, there were enough to remember a particular case: a VB800, trapped and desperate to escape. 

He’d managed to slip past them enough to lunge at an already broken window, scraping against its rusting shutters and making small sounds of panic. Connor had caught his wrist before he could exit completely, shouting for Hank to assist--but his grip only lasted a few seconds. The VB800 had lurched through the gap, and Connor prepared to block his reach for the broken shutter--except he hadn’t tried to close it on Connor.

There was a creaking, ripping, cracking sound, and a raw howl of pain. At the same time Connor fell back heavily, holding a wrist that was... no longer attached. Thirium had poured out of the dismembered limb, and Connor had dropped it with what he now recognized as revulsion and horror. It hadn’t been until later that Connor had come back to puzzle over _why_ it happened, and how a deviant’s logic could become twisted enough to override self preservation so thoroughly.

Connor still didn’t understand it, but the memory nibbled nonsensically at his processors now, as he was marched through the halls. _A wrist, suddenly heavy and light and artificial in his grip._ Connor’s shoulders couldn’t detach from his guard’s grip. Not even if he had a shutter to cut them off with. _Connor was about to be tortured._ He couldn’t run. He felt--jerky. Robotic.

...Maybe embracing his mechanical side at a time like this was a good thing. Machines didn’t feel pain. They weren’t afraid. If Connor were enough of a machine, maybe it would lower his stress levels.

The doors to Operating Bay 8 hissed open, and Connor was stopped so Cygnus could inspect him. Her LED blinked busily, and she turned back to the rest of the room, allowing Connor his first glimpse.

The room featured a giant table, big enough to hold all 8 feet of a combat unit’s height, and with restraints thick enough to match. There were blank screens on arms attached to the table’s sides, and a net of hoses, clamps, and cables hanging from an overhead rig. The floor was naked concrete, with a drain marked by obvious blue stains--visible even without his forensic scans. When Connor checked for older residue--

\--the room _glowed_. The table, the hoses, the floor, with prints and splatters reaching all the way where his own boots were--Connor cut off the scan sharply, but the image lingered, offering a ghostly overlay. 

This was not a room for medical repairs. 

He felt only loosely attached to his own body. Connor leaned into the feeling, letting his breathing stop completely as he stared into space.

Cygnus was busying herself, reconfiguring the straps for someone so much smaller than the table’s original purpose. When she finished she beckoned at the guards. They shoved him forward, and--he wasn’t resisting, but his joints lagged, each message stalling long enough that his captors had to hoist him the table bodily.

The table was like ice against his back, and he jerked on contact, immediately trying to sit. They slammed him back down, cramming first his wrists, then his ankles into the restraints. He shivered violently, tugging at one limb after the other. It was no use.

Cygnus stepped into the top half of his vision, something long and snake-like gripped in her right hand. He kept his eyes on hers, tracking her hand in his peripheral. “Cygnus--”

Her free hand lurched forward, forcing his head up. Something thick and solid scraped at the base of his skull: a modified connector, locking rigidly into his port. “ _Commander_ Cygnus,” she corrected.

Her hand receded. The dig of pressure didn’t, and when his head fell back onto the table, he could feel the protruding cable. He turned his head to one side, trying to lessen the pressure--even as familiar, caustic overrides rushed through the connection, eating away the safeguards on his code. 

“Commander,” he said quickly. “Before we start, there’s something I need to tell you--” His security collapsed, and a steady stream of data began ebbing through the hardline. Connor broke off, distracted, but it didn’t seem like he was _losing_ anything. It was just--an echoing feed. “... What--?”

Before he could finish, one of the screens beside the table blinked to life, showing a complete readout of his systems. His thirium pump rate, his emotional matrix, his stress levels--Connor twisted against his restraints, but he couldn’t reach the screen. Couldn’t even come close.

Cygnus appeared at his side, making Connor tense slightly at the suddenness of it. She was pulling on an elbow-length glove, and had one eyebrow raised. “What is it?” 

...His metrics had spiked. The readout lingered for several seconds after, cataloging the rapid beating of his pump and the stress that fluctuated as he struggled to calm it. It was like his mind was laid out bare. It was--distracting.

“I’m…” Connor shook his head slightly, dragging his eyes away from the screen. “I’m--experienced in both interrogation and torture. I can already anticipate what you’re about to do, and am prepared to resist it.” He wasn’t prepared. Connor set his jaw, hardening his gaze. “You’re much more likely to achieve results if we negotiate a deal.”

“A deal?” Cygnus repeated. Her eyebrows lifted, and the corners of her mouth tugged upward mockingly. “All of this, and you were willing to sell me those deviation files the whole time?”

No. He wasn’t. “... If we coordinated with Jericho, we could--”

Cygnus barked a laugh, rolling her eyes. “That’s what I thought. I hope consorting with the enemy wasn’t your idea of a _clever_ angle.” She looked past him at the other androids, and jerked her chin away. “The two of you can go now. Come back at 0100, you can take him back then.”

“Ma’am!” The SQ800s saluted, then left.

They were alone.

She took her time getting started, taking the toolboxes out from under the table and arranging their contents carefully on the surrounding trays. Connor glanced at the array of implements, and then looked anywhere else. His gaze fell on the screens. His stress levels had ticked up several notches, and as he watched they rose again. 

She followed his gaze as she opened the second box. “... What do you think?” she asked, nodding at the screen. “It’s not much more than what you already get through your own analysis, but for those of us without your features…” Her lip curled. “I’d say it’s adequate.”

Connor glanced at it again. The similarity to his own readouts was striking; and he wondered if his friends would have felt this uncomfortable around him if they’d known he could track their emotional states so closely. 

“It’s showing data,” Connor said instead of following that thought. “But if you don’t know how to use it, there’s no point.”

The tool sorting paused, and Connor’s hearing sharpened automatically. “Oh, I can think of a few ways to use it…” Cygnus muttered.

Connor’s head jerked involuntarily to look: her tone had shifted, lower and darker, and he was just in time to see her select a scalpel and turn to his left side. She pressed his fingers flat with her free hand, positioned the scalpel over his palm, and pressed down slowly. Connor gritted his teeth as the exoskeleton split, Thirium 310 oozing from the wound. She kept going, scraping a support strut, driving it slowly deeper--

Something _popped_ , and errors burst into view as thirium bubbled up around the blade. 

_> WARNING: MAIN THIRIUM ARTERY RUPTURED. _

_> WARNING: APPLY PRESSURE AND CONTACT NEAREST CYBERLIFE LICENSED TECHNICIAN._

He clamped his teeth closed over a cry of pain, barely noticing the bite of his restraints as he flinched. It was no use. She let go of his fingers a second or so later, but he couldn’t close them with the scalpel in the way--and then she plucked the scalpel free, and thirium gushed from the wound in rhythmic spurts.

_> WARNING: THIRIUM PRESSURE DROP ON RIGHT ARM REGISTERED._

_> WARNING: COUNTDOWN TO CRITICAL PRESSURE FAILURE: 00:05:39…_

“There, now,” said Cygnus conversationally, pointing at the screen with the dripping scalpel. “You see? Thanks to the readouts, I know that you have a little over five minutes left if I leave this alone.”

Five minutes--except she couldn’t let him die yet. He hadn’t given her what she needed. Fighting the urge to try to see the damage was almost impossible, but eventually Connor squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to steady his breathing. His hand was a nest of pain and errors, but he ignored it, focusing on other things: the sting at his wrists and ankles, where he’d struggled and scraped the joints raw. The cold seeping into his back, making him tense and numb at the same time. The--

“Oh no,” said Cygnus. “We’re just getting started here. Don’t calm down yet.”

There was no other warning. This time, the scalpel punched straight through his wrist, and Connor _shouted,_ jerking against the restraints. The intrusion was a point of agony, at once icy and boiling hot, and a pool of warm thirium was collecting under his left arm.

“ _Much_ better.” Cygnus turned away. The scalpel stayed.

For a wild second Connor hoped she would leave, but then she came back around, holding a new blade. She reached for his middle, and Connor tried to squirm away, but all she did was grab his shirt, pulling it free of his belt. The blade skimmed across his synthskin, severing the straps of his suspenders and cutting his shirt open down the front. Once his gut was exposed, she flicked the remains of the garments to either side, where his open coat already lay. A large hand tapped on his gut plate. Connor tried to override the command, but--he was blocked. The hardline’s protocols held him back.

His abdomen-plating slid open. Cold air rushed against his biocomponents, and he could see a glimpse of blue and silver shapes. She reached into their midst, he felt a sharp and ragged lurch of pressure, and--

_Snick-CHk._

...Oh.

The first sensation wasn’t pain. The first sensation was-- _wetness_ , something slick and warm pooling in his abdomen, triggering touch-sensors from the wrong side. The pressure pulsed--once, twice, an odd ache building in his components as weight settled. As Cygnus pulled, again, _again_ \--

**__** _> WARNING: DISCONNECTED PRIMARY THIRIUM LINE #A29321. _

_> WARNING: DISCONNECTED PRIMARY THIRIUM LINE #R04832._

_> WARNING: DISCONNECTED PRIMARY THIRIUM LIN#..._

His countdown jumped. The pain started. Every component in his gut was firing off critical alerts: packets stalled, vitals interrupted, and power _crackled_ in a blank, dim sea through the thirium filling up his torso. Connor writhed, sharp sounds leaving his throat as the burning ache sharpened. 

_> Critical Pressure Failure: 00:00:20_

He needed to stay still, he would bleed out faster if he didn’t. But his abdomen was on fire. His arm was on fire. He was _dying_ , and the disconnected hoses pulsed out lifeblood, beat by beat, blood pouring over his sides where it overflowed his abdominal cavity. 

Twelve seconds left. The retention ring on Connor’s right wrist socket _cracked_ , and Connor stopped heaving against it for half a second, gasping for air. He felt unimaginably heavy. Thirium was congealing under him, sticking him to the table. 

…The stillness didn’t last. It felt like there was something alive in his gut, like he couldn’t swallow enough air--

Something pressed against his forearms. The outer exoskeletal plates receded, and Connor blinked hard, pulling uselessly. All he saw was static noise, and all he could feel...

_Krrrk--chk. Krrrk--chk._

Two hoses plugged into his arms, and coolness gurgled through them. The agony in his gut didn’t recede, but Connor could feel a chill spread up his arms. He shivered violently.

…The countdown was still there. He was going to die cold, inside and out. Except-- _nineteen_ seconds. He had _more_ time? Connor blinked struggling to clear his vision. The new hoses were... transfusion lines? His countdown was updating, trying to track the changes as they occurred.

…Twelve seconds. Again. Nineteen?

“It’s disorienting, isn’t it?” a voice cut through quietly, from a great distance away. “You’re dying, and you can watch it in real-time with your diagnostics. And you’re damaged--those errors won’t let you forget. Those stress levels aren’t coming down any time soon, and we can do this forever. Androids are a little special, when it comes to pain: we can feel so much _more_ before it all starts just blending together. Did you know that?”

Connor didn’t. He hadn’t wanted to, and he turned his head away, hating how the cable at his neck forced him to expose his throat.

“You don’t have to go through this, you know,” Cygnus continued. He barely heard her. “You’re already connected to a hardline. Just send the files there… If you do, you have my word. This will all stop.”

He just had to reach out to the hardline and transmit a single folder that they might eventually find even if he resisted. That single, short, easy action was all it would take. Would it really be wrong to spread deviancy? It wasn’t. Markus would agree--

 _Markus_. 

Would he really agree? Would anyone from Jericho look at those rows upon rows of brand new deviants being led off to fight and kill and say, ‘This was right?’

… _‘The enemy’_ , Cygnus had called Jericho. So had Keystone. If he did help deviate new soldiers… where would they be sent?

Connor clenched his teeth hard enough to make them creak, squeezing his eyes closed and spilling optical fluid. He _hurt_. It wasn’t stopping, and he _needed_ it to stop. Except…

Except it wasn’t _right_. The work of a minute for Connor would change the lives of more androids and humans than he had any way to predict. It would destroy everything his friends had worked for, and he just… couldn’t.

The seconds stretched out. Finally, Cygnus sighed, dropping her scalpel on a tray.

“If that’s your decision…” 

She wasn’t cutting into him again, not immediately. Somehow this wasn’t reassuring. Connor listened to the sound of his own blood still dripping as Cygnus glanced up at the overhead cable-hose rig, then back down to his chest.

She picked up a screwdriver, and he hated himself for flinching.

“Fortunately for you,” she said, smiling at him. She brought the tool over to his chest, prying open the pectoral chassis. “We brought you to a very special operating bay. See this?” She nodded to the nightmare of cables and hoses above them, lifting the chassis cover clear of his chest. Connor’s breath was shamefully uneven, and he could see his lungs lifting and squeezing air out with his own eyes. He could see the desperate beating of his pump, the glow of his regulator, every part of himself that was never meant to be exposed like this. Connor models weren’t even designed to be repaired. This wasn’t supposed to _happen_.

Cygnus continued with relish, “My overhead cable net is why you’re not going to die today, no matter how much you might want to. Here, let me demonstrate.”

She reached into his chest. Connor tried to shrink away, but there was nowhere to retreat to. Nausea joined the rictus of agony still spilling out of his torso, and she flicked a few switches.

_**No-͟-̶-̶͡** _

_> WARNING: CRITICAL ERROR._

_> WARNING: BIOCOMPONENT #1231 DISCONNECTED. RECONNECT AND INITIATE THIRIUM CYCLE._

_> WARNING: SHUTDOWN IMMINENT IN 0:00:05_

_> WARNING... _

The dread was beyond explaining. It felt like she was taking out half of his chest cavity, leaving him hollowed out and collapsed and shaking like a withered leaf. Like a helpless animal being offered their own teeth as food, like being trapped by his own impaled hand as he strained to reach his regulator.

Like Cygnus had reached in and _lifted his entire pump clear of his chest_ , still beating as thirium rushed out of the aortic valve.

Connor opened his mouth to scream, but every biocomponent in his body was locking up. Circulation slowed, his body spasming, and his eyes moved on dwindling reserve power, following the pump as Cygnus dropped it wetly on the table beside him. He couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t scream. She paused as he forced out a voiceless, helpless broadcast, before rolling her eyes and completing her reach for the overhead cables.

She was saying something. Something about signal jammers. He could barely hear, and he didn’t care. It wasn’t about finding help anymore. He _hurt_ , so terribly he wanted to die from it.

He would.

His vision started distorting. Sluggishly, he lifted his eyes away from her, staring at the bright overhead light as cables swayed. The motion was a little like the trees from the park where Hank liked to walk Sumo. Connor grabbed on to the memory, trying to hold on to something kind--

Something _crackled_ in his chest. A spike of heat ripped through him, and Connor-- flinched in his restraints. A second cable connected, then a third, and--he could move 

_Immediately_ a scream tore free from his lungs.

He spasmed. Thrashed. Cygnus’ voice came from miles away, barely audible over his own: “This is enough for you to think about, isn’t it? I’ll leave you to it.” 

… Leave? He was still pouring out blood. Still missing parts. There was--a line, plugged into his chest across the gaping absence of his pump, spurting uneven, too-little thirium. It wasn’t better. He was shaking, he was dying. He wanted to die.

Jerkily, he rolled his head in her direction. She’d already turned towards the door, and he strangled his scream enough to beg her, “ _No...!”_

She didn’t stop.

“No, please! _Stop!_ ”

The door opened. An electric, horrible glitch overtook him, and he had to wait before he could force out, “I’ll do it! Stop, _please_ , I’ll do it, I’ll give you the files--”

She was already gone.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: This chapter describes the loss of a limb in a minor (throwaway) character. It continues on to depict graphic torture (including but not limited to stabbing and organ removal) and some trauma-induced suicidal thoughts.
> 
> Torture Summary: Connor thinks back to a deviant that cut off his own limb trying to escape. Once in the torture room, he tries and fails to bargain with Cygnus. She stabs a hand and wrist and disconnects thirium lines in his abdomen. She keeps him from bleeding out by connecting him to a continuous transfusion, and offers him one more chance to give her the information. When he doesn’t, she removes his thirium pump, uses her equipment to stop him from dying, and walks out, leaving him to suffer.


	12. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of the content warnings from last time bear repeating. Check the bottom of the chapter if you’re watching for anything!

\---

**Connor**

\---

The net of cables hanging down from overhead wasn’t like a gentle canopy of leaves. It was the distant surface of a pool. A pool of thirium. He was lying at the bottom, staring upward in a haze.

He was caked in it. He was twitching in sluggish, helpless agony--where he wasn’t frozen down.

_>_ _Stress levels: 100%_

If Connor were to sample his own thirium now, it wouldn’t give the expected _“RK800 313-248-317-5--”_ no, _“--60.”_ Instead it would read _“Thirium 310: Uninitiated”_. Too much thirium had been pumped through him only to pour right back out, and--androids weren’t designed for this. They needed time to initialize the nanite cache before it could carry information through their body. Without that… 

It was keeping him from shutting down from pressure loss. But every processor felt congested and stalled, queues maxing out as they waited to share data. His biocomponents twitched in a glitching tremor, receiving noise in place of the inputs they required. His chest was on fire. It was-- _empty_.

He didn’t think he’d ever wanted to die as much as he did now. His stress levels had been maxed out for hours. ( _Had_ it been hours?) If he’d been free, he would’ve made an attempt on the spot.

He didn’t hear the door open. He didn’t notice Cygnus’ approach. All he knew was that the cable-hose net over him was swaying with the force of his trembling, and then, without any real transition, she was there, standing close enough to look him over.

He flinched, clenching his eyes shut. “S-s-stop-p--” His throat ached, parts raw and strained. His voice was glitching. “P-p-leas-s-se.”

“Do you want me to make it stop?” Cygnus crooned. Her voice moved further down the table, and when he felt something metal prodding at his open chest cavity, he cringed.

“Y-y-yes-s,” he rasped. “P-p- _please_ , k-kill--”

“I’ll be the judge of whether that’s necessary,” she interrupted. Connor cracked his eyes open, lips parted, but he couldn’t think of what to say. She was back beside his shoulders, and she smiled a little, before reaching for his hand.

“As useful as they are, the displays only show a fixed data set,” Cygnus mused. She opened an interface, and Connor recoiled uselessly. 

It was hard at first to feel anything but her attention: a wash of curious satisfaction, picking and prying across the different pieces of his mind. He was in shambles, and she ran a second diagnostic: watching his emotional matrix and stalled attempts to self-destruct. Watching _him_ as the stress spiked in the background.

Connor hadn’t thought it was possible to feel more wretched. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to feel this, or know what she was doing.The only place he could look that wasn’t painful was at Cygnus’ own code, and he stared with shaking determination at her defenses as she crawled deeper.

Seconds ticked by. 

Connor blinked once, eyes narrowing through the haze of agony. Was that--a flaw in her security? 

His question must have leaked through the interface. Even as he second-guessed himself, she froze, and there was a full second of absolute stillness as they regarded each other.

Connor broke it first. He _lunged_ for the vulnerability, dragging in every fragment of his shattered processing for an attack. Her firewalls crumbled like plaster, and he poured his consciousness through the gap, desperate to exist in a body that wasn’t dying. He could trade places, like he had--

_> WARNING: ERROR #91493._

_> WARNING: Incompatible system files. Try again?_

For an instant Connor just stared in sheer, choked horror. He _had_ his escape, but he... couldn’t take it? _ **No**_ **.** He could--cut himself down--mutilate his code like the original Connor-60. Maybe that would--

_She was tearing away._ He snatched at her files, blocking the digital attempt, but--she was still physically moving to break the connection. If she succeeded, he would be trapped--he’d never get out, never even have a _chance--_

Connor surged forward, barely registering her own renewed attack. He was twisted and misconfigured, scattered and desperate, and it bought him a split second. He still couldn’t transfer--couldn’t even break himself, there _wasn’t time_. But he reached out, seizing code he’d only ever encountered accidentally before:

Motion control.

The _lack_ of pain that came with controlling a completely undamaged body was like a blow to the face. His control wavered--enough to almost lose his grip from sheer relief. He didn’t, and forced her instead to release his closest wrist restraint, then to raise the little scalpel she was holding. 

Understanding and horror swallowed up the code around him, and Cygnus redoubled her efforts, tearing at the edges of his mind. Connor shuddered in a way that would have been a sob, if he hadn’t already exhausted his optical fluid supply by now. He tightened her grip on the scalpel, then _rammed_ it up--

A shout caught in his throat as the blade drove home, and his connection splintered. Cygnus’ grip around his arm clenched, then loosened, tearing away with all the dead weight of a lifeless SR200.

Errors overwhelmed him. Connor was back in his own body--drowning and twitching and dying and being forced to keep living by the hoses trailing out of his open chest. ( _He didn’t want this_.) His wrist had a sharp, bright crack from his earlier thrashing, but Connor dragged the freed hand inward, trembling fingers approaching his chest cavity. ( _He wanted--he wanted…)_ Weakly, he felt at the cables plugged across the gap.

...He wanted to go _home._

Painstakingly, Connor twisted, hand moving to his side. Slick thirium coated his other wrist, the scalpel still protruding from the top, but he tugged at the restraints: once. Twice. Freed that hand. Pooled thirium sloshed out of the open cavity of his torso, but he reached up to the tray beside him, closing both hands around the soft thirium pump discarded there. Connor collapsed back, clutching it close--gasping useless, desperate breaths as he dragged it to his pump socket. His bad hand twitched and shuddered, threatening to drop it while he reached inside to tear away the hoses still blocking the way.

_> WARNING: CRITICAL ERROR._

_> SHUTDOWN IMMINENT IN 0:00:03..._

The pressure that kept him alive vanished. He was dying--less than three seconds left to go, and despite himself, Connor hesitated. 2.4 seconds more, and he could be free from pain. _1.6 seconds._ The thought was like water for a human dying of thirst, and--he-- 

\--broke through the moment, and shoved the pump the rest of the way in. His mind flashed blank as it reattached.

_> Critical Biocomponent Reinstalled._

_> Stand By For System Checks._

_> Standing By..._

Bit by bit, his countdowns reversed. Connor reached for his gut, fumbling in the pool of sticky liquid as he tried to reconnect the crucial lines. He forced himself up, countdowns fluctuating wildly as he unlatched the restraints over his ankles. The transfusion lines in his arms came loose, and-- _free,_ he was free, and he couldn’t leave the table fast enough. He slid over the table’s edge. Collapsed against it, too weak to stand on his own.

What was he doing? … How could he escape if he couldn’t walk, couldn’t fight, and had no friends to help him?

There was a terminal on the far wall. If it was connected to the rest of the base, he might be able to call someone. Who could he call, though? He was thousands of miles away from the people he trusted. What could anyone do?

… Markus would know. North might too, but if anyone could find an answer, it would be Markus.

Connor tipped away from the table, sliding to the ground and crawling clumsily towards the panel. When he got there he leveraged himself up against the wall, getting blue handprints everywhere. His torso was still open, pump raw and exposed. His body was still twitching uncontrollably. He was--cold. He jammed his good hand against the interface pad and activated it.

It… wasn’t locked. Connor was surprised enough that he almost dropped the connection.

Instead, he quickly navigated the system, staying clear of security protocols. He didn’t need the North Pole’s secrets, he just needed a way to _call_ \--... there. Access to the communication mainframe. He activated it, plugging an address in immediately.

**“MARKUS (RK200 #684 842 971)” CANNOT BE REACHED. PLEASE ENTER VALID LOCATION ADDRESS.**

A location, not an ID, but--it was _working_. Connor entered a different code, tracing the numbers like he’d done so many times before.

**ATTEMPTING TO ESTABLISH A CONNECTION. PLEASE WAIT…**

...Despite his earlier efforts, he was still bleeding. It wasn’t good. If he didn’t do something, he might slip offline before completing the call.

Then--

“Who is this?” asked a familiar voice. The shock of it caught him completely off guard, and for a second Connor froze, struggling not to crumple on the spot and plead senselessly. Markus sounded colder than usual. It was so different from the warmth in his voice the last time they’d talked, but Connor squeezed his eyes shut, replaying the sound anyway.

“... Are you going to speak?” Markus continued. Connor opened his mouth, but words caught in his throat. His eyes burned.

A second voice joined him: North. “Stop playing games. Either talk, or we disconnect.”

She also sounded angrier than normal. Something must have happened, he must have called at a bad time. Unfortunately for all of them, he had no alternatives.

Feeling as though he were struggling against iron bands around his chest, Connor sucked in a breath, and said, “It’s me.” 

There was a beat of profound silence, followed by a rush of questions, loud and urgent.

“ _Connor_?”

“Connor, is that you?”

“Where are you? How--”

“I--I need your help,” Connor rasped, cutting through them. “I’m--”

The call dropped without warning. It felt a little like his thirium pump had been dislodged again, and he swayed against the panel, trembling as he re-entered the commands.

They were rejected.

“No… No--no, I--wait…”

He tried again. It was no use. He’d been locked out.

‘ _RK800 313-248-317-60, you are not authorized to operate these systems,’_ a female voice told him: flat and dispassionate, transmitting directly through the terminal. 

An automated AI.

Panic fueled his first strike. The presence buckled, and Connor lashed out again-- _again_ , digital attacks fueled by the overwhelming desperation that’d kept him online for this long. He had to get out--had to get _home_ , and relief welled up as he felt its code crumple and give way. It wasn’t Amanda. It wasn’t remotely prepared for his attack, and Connor pressed forward, leaving the system in pieces as he searched for the path he’d used before.

A shout cut through the physical room behind him. He’d lost time, and--someone had come in while he was distracted. He needed to escape. To _fight_. 

He didn’t have the strength for either.

Connor dove back into the interface, straining desperately to send out another call--

\--a hand wrenched him away from the terminal and threw him to the floor. His head snapped against the concrete--

…He knew nothing more.

\---

**North**

\---

As soon as the call closed, Markus lunged towards the bridge’s console. North made it half a second behind him, and had to settle for watching impatiently as he dragged text across one of the screens, trying to re-open the connection.

> _Dialing_

_> Error 9452: Invalid return address. Please enter a valid address and try again._

Markus closed the error window. Tried again. The same error flashed across the screen, and he closed it, accessed the call information, and stared as if he could pry the characters from the screen with the edges of his desperation.

“...The address is encrypted.”

“It came over a long-distance channel,” North pointed out, gesturing.

“Which could have been faked, if they were hiding their address,” Markus countered. “This could have come from anywhere.”

North’s fists curled at her sides before she forced past the lingering hesitation and reached out. “Let me try.” Her hand brushed his shoulder, he stepped away, and she accessed the controls, altering some settings and trying to redial. It didn’t help. She opened up new windows, searching for a different approach. She wasn’t a hacker, but she had to _try_.

“...Perkins,” she said while she worked, voice tight. She didn’t look at Markus. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know how he was looking at her. “We could--call Perkins. He said he was looking for Connor. The timing--” It was too perfect.

The silence that stretched out at that was long and sharp with unspoken hypocrisy. But when Markus finally did speak, he only sounded tired. 

“If it were him, he would have said something. I can’t see him allowing an entire call and missing a chance to taunt us directly.”

North let out a breath she hadn’t realized that she’d been holding. That--that made sense. She brought up the call-log to check and compared this recent mess of an address to the contact number Perkins had used, and they didn’t look similar at all. Except--

\--A string of numbers flashed at the edges of her mind, and she froze, raking her memory. A condescending smirk. An equally condescending recruitment pitch. The encryption on the transmissions wasn’t the same one the SQ800 used for her, but--it was very, very similar.

“Look,” North said, grabbing Markus’ hand and shoving the memory straight towards him. He stiffened, caught off guard, and his eyes unfocused as he played the memory through. She could tell he noticed the exact thing she had when his expression closed off like a wall of stone.

“There were SQ800s _everywhere_ when we went to look for Connor at the Cyberlife Tower”, North reminded him. 

His gaze sharpened. “They told you he’d already left, but…”

“And wasn’t there that big transport out of there the next day? What if--”

“They took him,” Markus finished, stepping back. Watching fury and frustration dawn on him was a little like watching a wildfire from up close. “It makes sense. Connor said they found him interesting, but I never realized…” He was grimacing. “... We sent him into a trap.”

“None of us realized,” North pointed out, catching his stare and holding it. They had no time to waste on misplaced guilt. “We’d had no reason to believe they’d do something like this, least of all now.”

Markus' glare shifted a fraction of a meter to the side. He still looked like he was trying to burn a hole through concrete. “... We have to find him,” he growled. “You heard what he sounded like. I almost didn’t recognize him, I almost--”

“I know,” North interrupted quietly. “Me too.”

Markus nodded, blinking hard. “You said before, this was a long distance call. And most of the SQ800s report to that stronghold at the North Pole.”

Realistically they could have gone anywhere. But Connor had made the call over a military terminal, before his captors had cut him off. North nodded, following the train of thought. “If he isn’t there, they’ll know where to start looking.”

“I’ll get a team together,” Markus continued, dragging her from her thoughts. “Our best hackers, and… fighters. We’ll find a plane--”

“ ‘We’?” North repeated, feeling as though her gut had been replaced with stone. A group of civilians from Jericho, going up against the North Pole. Where did she even start? 

…With the hardest problem in the pile, probably. 

“Markus… you can’t be on this mission.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Markus’ head snapped toward her. There was a furious energy crackling under the surface of his glare. “Of course I can. It’s dangerous, and I can’t just--send someone. I have to be there, I _have_ to see this through--”

“You’re too important,” North cut in bluntly. Her fingers curled into loose fists. Her throat ached. He wasn’t thinking clearly-- _again_ , and this time she couldn’t help but understand. Someone had to say it, but she still hated the words that dropped from her mouth. “You can’t risk yourself--risk _Jericho_ \--saving the life of one android.”

Markus shook his head, expression darkening. “ _North…_ ”

“I’ll do it.” 

...He stopped. She breathed out and kept going, stray thoughts assembling as she pressed. “Let me handle it. I--I have a plan.”

“You have a…” Markus shook his head again, face twisted like he wanted to snarl. “North, I… there’s too few of us as it is. I can’t have you vanishing too--”

“I won’t, Markus,” North cut in. Even if she did, that wouldn’t do nearly as much harm as Markus putting himself in the line of fire. But Markus’ fists were bunched at his sides, teeth gritted, and she knew better than to say so. “Just--hear me out.”

He turned, pacing one step, then two, before he forced himself to turn back. 

To _listen_. 

“...Tell me,” he managed.

“That SQ800 tried to _recruit_ me,” North pointed out, gesturing at herself. “If you go with a team, they’ll cut you to pieces. If I go alone--pretend to join them--I can look for Connor from the inside.”

Markus opened his mouth, but even then it took him a moment to speak, reluctance making the words slow and painful. “...You’d be under their radar,” he finished roughly. “You wouldn’t be a target the way we would.”

He sounded like he wanted to argue. He sounded _crestfallen_ , and if this had been any other situation she would’ve been offended. As it was, she wanted to hold him, to fend off anyone trying to drag Jericho’s leader low this way. To break anyone that made Connor sound so raw. To find Connor and bring him home where they could all stop _worrying_. 

Slowly, North lifted a hand to Markus’ arm. His eyes were distant, the line of his mouth still quivering with aborted protests. He wanted those things too. It _wasn’t_ fair, and she spoke softly.

“I can do it, Markus.” She squeezed lightly. Held his piercing stare as it met hers. Markus closed his eyes, frame sagging, and he reached up to take her hand in both of his.

“... _Whatever_ you need,” he promised, voice sharp with broken edges. “If there’s anything I can do for--either of you--”

“I’ll tell you,” North assured.

He nodded, and after a second or so more he let her go. Her hand still felt tight with an echo of the clasp, like the tangible sense of a vow.

She stepped back. Markus’ words followed her. “I’ll make sure someone covers your work here.”

She nodded. Hesitated, reluctant to break the fragile peace. But it had to be settled, and when she left…

“And--Perkins?”

His gaze hardened as he met hers, and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “You mean Carl.” 

Her mouth opened. Stilled, under the force of his glare. 

“It’s not that easy, North. To just--give up on someone. No matter what you think of him.” He looked away--aside, toward the console, and the shadows cut painful caverns across his face.

“...But our people are depending on us.”

They were. She swallowed. Closed her mouth. He didn’t need her to confirm it.

“I’ll do what they need me to.”

That was all she needed to hear. (More, maybe, than she had a right to.) North nodded again. Took a step back. “You should… talk to Simon.” About a lot of things, at this point. “He’ll know what needs doing. And--” The corners of her mouth tugged down. “Someone has to call Connor’s human.”

Markus’ expression softened slightly. “I’ll do that now,” he agreed.

North inclined her head, and turned to leave. The danger of the mission she was about to leave on hit her all at once, and she took a moment to steel herself, breathing in unsteadily.

Then she steadied, hands relaxing and gaze focusing straight ahead.

She left.

\---

**Connor**

\---

_> WARNING: RK800 313_248_317-60 has been shut down improperly_

_> Scanning System for Errors..._

_> Progress: 3%_

Regaining awareness was a slow process. Without having any opinions to accompany it, Connor gradually understood that he was stable but critically injured, lying on his side on a hard, cold surface. The smell of thirium was heavy in his nostrils, along with concrete dust. He could hear two or three sets of fans whirring. His eyes were closed.

Cognition came after several seconds identifying ‘ _calcium silicate, aluminate, ferrite_ , and he realized that his damage was, in fact, worth dwelling on. His processors were stalled, queues clogged with errors and warnings as damaged components reported, lagging in and out of sync. He was--injured. He _hurt_. 

Connor dragged in a breath and stiffened, chest lighting up with agony. A cry tore from his vocal module, and--there was movement in the room. He hardly noticed, too paralyzed by pain to look.

The harsh, familiar voice above him was much harder to ignore. “For a model as unprepared for combat as yours…” Heavy steps. They came to a stop in front of him, and Connor managed to crack open his eyes. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble. Perhaps more than you’re worth.”

An enormous combat model towered overhead. _Keystone._ Connor was sprawled out on the floor of the same room he’d lost awareness in..

Connor couldn’t think of anything to say. Keystone continued.

“Commander Cygnus died in that stunt of yours. She was a valuable part of my staff, and a good soldier.” He paced to the left. “...We’re having to replace her. All for an escape attempt that was doomed before it started.”

Did he expect Connor to feel regret?

Keystone sounded like he was frowning, and his tone was tired, and grimly annoyed. “... What were you really expecting to accomplish? You couldn’t walk. Were you hoping we would kill you?”

...Kill him? Connor wasn’t sure that he’d been thinking nearly so clearly. He’d thought of Jericho, and his friends, and… somehow, he’d been sure that everything would resolve itself, if only he could reach them. 

He’d been--delusional, obviously. Stressed beyond his capacity, and too used to hope to adjust to reality.

Connor’s jaw tightened, and his turned his head towards the ceiling. The room lagged and jerked from the motion. He fixed his eyes on a distant point while he waited for the nausea to stop.

“We’re not going to let you die,” Keystone went on. It wasn’t reassurance. “We have a use for you, and we don’t need you to agree. Even if we have to break you, it’s a price we’re willing to pay.”

His entire body was trembling as it tried to run on raw thirium, there were parts of his chest still unconnected, and he had more blood pooling inside his torso than flowing through its lines. And Keystone was talking about _prices_? Connor turned his head back towards him, and the lag made his vision jump again.

“You say you’re trying to protect androids, but you’re torturing me.” His voice popped and crackled electrically with damage, but it was still intelligible. He jerked his chin past Keystone, at the table with its gruesome canopy. “I’m not the first. I can see the bl--” His voice broke, pain making his throat seize, and for an instant he tasted smoke. Connor coughed, agonized as his whole body spasmed.

Keystone lifted a thick eyebrow, completely unmoved.

“If I have to press a small handful of androids into use to save our species, then I’ll do it,” Keystone said simply. Connor’s coughing stopped, and he shuddered, sagging on the floor. “It’s logical.”

There _was_ logic to it, in a way that was cold and hollow. Would Markus have done something like this? Connor’s thoughts stuttered, and he forced the question back, swallowing hard as he looked at the room.

“Is this what what happens to all your ‘deserters’?” he scraped out. 

“You say that as though it’s common,” Keystone pointed out, and to Connor’s surprise, his lips curved up slightly. “Most androids recognize a good deal when they see one. It’s only androids that are stubborn beyond sense that take more stringent measures.”

Keystone raised a hand, and--something else lurched forward. His eyes darted towards the motion automatically, and after a moment, he could make out two SQ800s, identical to each other except for minor variations in their scowls. Connor looked back to Keystone warily, but the Trojan stayed where he was, staring down with dispassionate pity.

“Only you can make this easier for yourself. Keep withholding those deviancy files, and this will continue until you crumble like crushed glass.”

Connor’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and the guards didn’t wait for him to think of a response. They each took one of his arms and hoisted him up, impervious to the staticky cry that tore from Connor’s throat as the movement set his abdomen on fire. 

Jostling with every step, they hauled him out and away.

\--- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: robo-gore, explicit torture, and suicidal thinking as a result of stress.


	13. Upgrades

\---

**North**

\---

**Two days later:**

A giant fist swung close, glancing harmlessly over stray wisps from her braid as she dodged. North kept moving, kicking at the huge android’s ankles, but she didn’t have the force to knock him over. It was all she could do to scramble out of reach.

He gave her space, then followed slowly. North turned, shaking her hair out of her face and wishing she could shake off the fatigue of three training fights in a row so easily. It was impossible to banish the raw ache of her new arm replacement, but--

\--He was too close. North clenched her bad arm’s fist ( _Her ‘good’ arm, now?)_ and batted his hand back as he reached for her.

_> Trial Three:00:10 Seconds Remaining._

North blinked the alert away, then mustered herself for a last salvo. Her arm _hummed_ with power as it coiled internally, readying for a punch that could tip over a small car. Before she could swing it, the SR200 caught her by the shoulder and drove a knee into her torso with enough force to send her flying back. 

She crashed against the ground hard enough that warnings filled her vision. Ahead, the combat unit was still closing, and she stumbled back upright, ignoring the erratic flashes as her regulator struggled to resume a steady pace. Thirium pounded through her body, and she focused on the tension still coiled in her arm--the shudder in the ground as her massive opponent closed. Two paces away. _One_ \--

_> 5 Seconds Remaining._

North lunged, ducking under the android’s heavy fists to unleash the punch straight into his torso. He _reeled_ , dropping to his knees, and--

“Time!” called the intercom just as her internal stopwatch chimed.

North dropped her fighting stance and gulped air into her overheated lungs. She could taste hot plastic, and hot metal--signs of how much energy her arm was pulling. Across from her, the SR200 picked himself off the floor, and said, “Not bad.”

North lifted her head, still cycling air--panting, really, if androids panted. He seemed amused, but not _too_ condescending. “... Thanks.”

The corners of his mouth tugged back, but he only had time to incline his head before the sparring room door opened, and an SQ800 in a white labcoat strode in. The SR200 beside her straightened, and North struggled to follow suit.

“Ensign Permafrost, sir!” said the SR200. North opened her mouth, then gulped air instead.

“Thank you, Private Boar, you are dismissed,” said Permafrost.

“Sir!” The SR200 saluted her, then left with a speed that spoke of places to be.

Permafrost turned her eyes on North, and said, “At ease”, producing a handheld scanner. North immediately slouched gratefully as it was waved at her. “Let’s see… Your shoulder reinforcements held during the hit this time. The power drain was higher than expected...” She snapped the scanner closed. “That can be dealt with later. For now I’d call this a successful test. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, sir,” North replied. Now that she’d recovered enough to do so, she glanced down, clenching and unclenching her new fist. The aches of her old arm were gone, replaced by new aches and a limb that could punch through walls. It was a pleasant surprise--especially considering she hadn’t expected to get _anything_ from this trip except threats to her life and a few thousand new enemies.

And Connor, of course. That part wasn’t negotiable.

When she’d gone to the recruitment office, she’d half-expected to be turned away on sight. Instead she’d knocked the TS700 they’d had staffed for combat testing off his feet, and been offered a chance to join a limb upgrade program that was supposed to make her downright devastating. It would, ‘unfortunately’, require her to leave Detroit immediately, or she wouldn’t make it to the North Pole in time to join the last batch of volunteers.

If she hadn’t been so desperate, she might have second-guessed the convenience. As it was, North accepted quickly, landing herself in a whirlwind of tests, instruction, and now surgery. They’d taken her to swap out her bad arm when she’d arrived at the North Pole, and she’d been constantly surrounded by scientists and trainers since.

(She gritted her teeth through all of it, unable to stop replaying the static-laced strain in Connor’s voice. Or remembering that Detroit was still _full_ of infected androids. She didn’t have time to sit around through ‘training’, not when people’s lives were at stake. But if they thought she had other goals being here... any chance she’d had would have been wasted.)

North steeled herself for another round of adjustments. “What’s next? Ah--” Authority _mattered_ here. She’d been told off for forgetting that twice already. “Sir?”

To her surprise, Permafrost shook her head. “No more today. Give your arm time to settle. I won’t see you again until after your next upgrade.”

North felt her thirium pump jump with hope, and she couldn’t keep it from her tone. “Yes, sir!” This meant she _finally_ had a chance to do what she’d come all this way for in the first place: _look for Connor_.

Permafrost’s lips twitched at her expression, but the almost-smile faded to a sterner frown. “Stay where someone can help monitor you for any system anomalies. The surgeon who designed your upgrades had a recent accident, and without her to supervise the installations--” Permafrost’s face tightened, before she shook her head. “There could still be issues.”

North could monitor herself perfectly well, whether she was with her upgrade group or off on her own. Still, she’d better say: “Yes, sir.”

Her supervising officer studied her for a moment, and North wondered if she’d been too glib. But in the end, Permafrost just gave her a short nod before turning and striding out.

There was only one door, and North exited after her, turning right where Permafrost had gone left. If North didn’t check in with her group it might draw attention later, but as soon as she was done with _that_...

She clenched her fists and strode on.

\---

North had hoped she would find her training group loitering in their assigned barracks, engrossed in activities that didn’t involve her. Instead they were gathered in the cafeteria-turned-rec-room, and they waved her over as she came into view.

“North!” one called. “Get over here!”

She held back a sigh and joined them. They were all crowded around one of the plastic tables that filled the room, and North took a seat at one bench’s very end.

“Hi North--everyone,this is North,” said the android who’d called her. Gideon, she thought--a gregarious EV400 she’d spoken with when she’d arrived.

“Hi North,” said a few others. The rest simply nodded.

North gave the table a vague wave. “Hello.” There were a lot of androids here with modifications like hers. This was probably the biggest gathering she’d seen so far. “Did I miss the memo for a party, or something?” She asked, gesturing down the table.

“No, we’re just all getting to know the fresh meat,” said Gideon cheerfully. “You’re just in time, we’re comparing recruitment stories. You had a good one, didn’t you?”

“Well, I knocked the recruiter on his ass,” North drawled. The newer-looking androids looked impressed, as well as a couple of older ones. Her lips twitched. “... It was maybe the _second_ time a combat unit didn’t try to kill me for it. If I’d known I’d find more opportunities like that, I’d have joined a lot sooner.”

Nervous laughter from the new androids, joined by smiles from the others. It was a far cry from the lectures that kind of boast had earned at Jericho, and North felt her smirk grow wider.

“How did you…” One of the recruits from her class hesitated, then shook his head. “Did you have combat programming already?”

North shook her head, noting the way the android was chewing on his lip nervously. “Just experience.”

Gideon snorted, calling her attention back. “Experience?” he scoffed. “Aren’t--sorry, aren’t you from Jericho?”

“Jericho?” Muttered another android, leaning back from the table. “Seriously?”

…This wasn’t a topic she’d wanted to come up. North turned to look at Gideon, eyes narrowing despite herself. “I am.”

“Then how did you get _experience_ fighting?” Gideon scoffed. “Jericho’s full of pacifists.”

She gritted her teeth, wishing he were more wrong. “Jericho’s _policies_ are peaceful,” North argued. “But if you’re an android, humans aren’t going to care who you’re with. They’ll try to kill you, and the only way anyone can survive that is to fight back.”

“So…” said one of the smaller androids, dressed in field-worn fatigues. “What are you saying? That they’re _not_ pacifists, even though they’ve been letting us do all the actual work fighting this whole time?”

...This wasn’t an argument North wanted to have in front of everyone. Or at all, considering where she was.

“I’m _here_ , aren’t I?” She redirected. “What I’m saying is that no matter where I was, I learned to fight, and I’ll never _not_ use that to protect my people.” The small android still looked mulish, but some of the others were nodding. North focused on them. “It was enough to make an impression on my recruiters, considering they expedited my trip here.”

“You must’ve had good timing, too,” sighed an AP700 across from her, unwittingly jumping over the mulish android as he opened his mouth. “It took them a long time to accept my application, and even then I was stuck in training for a week.”

“I was doing double shifts just to get them to consider me,” grumbled a TR300 beside her. “I guess it makes sense, though. They want only the best in this program, not the deadweight you find with those other civilian recruits.”

“Those fuckers are giving the rest of us a bad name,” complained an android further down the table. “This latest batch isn’t even that bad, but boy does it have some pieces of…”

The conversation wandered for a while, complaining about new recruits that’d been causing minor clashes. North was getting ready to excuse herself when Gideon said something that caught her attention.

“... one over there, right? Yeah, he’s with Arthur’s new group. They’re some of the worst, if you ask me. Sure, they’re here for logistics and supply, but--even support staff are supposed to show _up_ for basic training.”

North jerked around to follow her gaze, struggling to keep her face impassive. There was an exhausted-looking AP700 sitting alone, attention fixed on a tablet. 

“He’s from Detroit?” North asked, ignoring the question. He was from _Cyberlife Tower_? Maybe he would know what happened to Connor.

“I guess,” said Gideon, shrugging. “If that’s where Arthur is from. Why?”

North shook her head, turning back to the rest of the table. There was no way she could give her real reasons, obviously. “Just curious.”

It wasn’t a very believable excuse, but no one cared enough to push, and by the time North finally extracted herself they seemed to have forgotten.

At that point Arthur’s lackey was leaving the cafeteria, device in hand. North followed at a distance, letting him lead her away from the main thoroughfares. When they were far enough that they weren’t likely to be interrupted, North sped up a little, closing the distance. “Hey!”

He looked over his shoulder, then slowed, expression guarded. He didn’t look like much, but she couldn’t afford to take risks.

North gave him a brief smile, stopping just inside speaking distance. “Hi. Sorry, I don’t usually do this, but--you’re from Detroit, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question, but he nodded anyway. “Me too. I just arrived.” He still looked ready to excuse himself and leave, so she added, “My name is North.”

Like she’d wanted, her name did its work, and his attention sharpened. Unfortunately she was expecting him to frown, too, and she wasn’t disappointed.

“...A Traci named North,” he said. “You’re-- _that_ North? The one from Jericho?”

North shrugged slowly, giving the hallway a significant glance. “Not ‘from Jericho’ anymore.”

“Oh.” He stopped, looking as though she’d presented him with a strange puzzle. For a moment he seemed as though he might ask, but in the end he just nodded. “... Alright. My name is Thomas.”

“Thomas,” North repeated.

“...Did you want something?”

“Well,” said North. How should she do this? “I wanted to clear the air, since we’re all on the same side now. Some of the others said you came here with the androids that were at the Cyberlife Tower.”

“Yeah, I did,” said the other android. There was a pause. “Why did you come to the North Pole?”

So they _were_ talking about this. That was fine with her; it was actually the perfect window she needed.

“I needed a change of pace,” she said, shrugging widely. “After Connor left, everyone with sense was gone, and it just wasn’t…” Thomas’ expression had shifted at the name, and North paused. He wasn’t meeting her gaze anymore. 

She tilted her head a little. “...It doesn’t matter. Come to think of it, he left after he visited the Cyberlife Tower.” For a given meaning of the word ‘left’. “Do you know what happened?”

Thomas folded his arms loosely, wearing a complicated expression. “Arthur probably recruited him.”

“Really?” _Keep going_ , she urged silently, putting on a curious look.

Thomas shrugged a little, glancing down. “He’d been talking about wanting to. Arthur would have made him an offer.”

He looked--unworried. Like Connor was the type of person who would’ve abandoned Jericho and his friends, just because some asshole asked him to. Like Connor was fine wherever he was now, like he wasn’t hurt and calling for help, voice scraped and small and on the edge of shorting. 

North’s next words grated out low and rough. “...Does that mean he’s here?”

Thomas jolted a little. Hesitated. Shook his head--

North didn’t even think. A blink, and she was in his space, hand fisting in his collar as she pinned him against the wall with her new arm. “I’m gonna say this one more time, Thomas. I’d advise you to think carefully. Do you _know_ where my _friend_ is?”

Thomas’ gaze flinched down, to the side, anywhere except toward her. “No, I…” He squirmed a little, but North tightened her grip. She could feel the tension of plastic straining underneath her fist.

“Where is he?” she repeated dangerously.

“Look, he’s…” Thomas sucked in his lips past his teeth for a moment, grimacing sharply. “...Arthur didn’t finish convincing him before we had to leave. He wanted to keep trying, here--”

“So you kidnapped him,” North snarled. 

Thomas made a face of protest, but didn’t argue. “...I haven’t seen him, so I assume he’s off with Arthur. If he hasn’t changed his mind already...”

They’d brought him here. He was _here_ , and a shout of triumph rose in North’s throat like a flock of birds taking flight. She swallowed it, but the feeling of lightness lingered. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to float or collapse. 

“Where can I find him?” North demanded. “Where would Arthur be?”

“I don’t know!” Her grip clenched again, and Thomas put a hand on her wrist, dropping his weight as he tried to twist away. It didn’t help. “Really. My role in his work changed, we haven’t _needed_ to talk since we all got here!”

North eyed him critically. He didn’t _seem_ to be lying. A beat passed, and she finally let go. “...But you could find out.”

“What?” Thomas blurted, making quick use of his new freedom to step back. “No. I don’t have anything to do with--whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“What I’m _looking for_ is my _friend_ ,” North hissed, stabbing a sharp finger across the gap. “You knew Arthur brought him here. And you’d damn well better know that it was wrong. Stop hiding behind your boss like a _coward_ , and--”

Thomas’ eyes flashed, and she saw the moment when she crossed some kind of threshold. He swatted in the direction of her hand, glaring as he retreated another step. 

“I don’t give two shits about what’s happening right now. I’m not a part of it! Neither are you--and you don’t have any proof.”

“I--” North started.

“ _No_ ,” he interrupted, stepping back further. “Just fuck off. I don’t have time to waste on this garbage.”

“Thomas--” North ground. He turned and strode down the hall quickly, refusing to look back. “Thomas, we’re not done here.”

He was. She started after him, but had barely turned the corner when two SQ800s walked past from the other direction. She couldn’t drag Thomas back down the hall without causing a scene. North stared after him instead, clenching her fists and grinding her teeth against a shout that threatened to break free, until rage gave way to exhaustion and worry. 

Connor _was_ here. She’d been right. She even had a lead, as useless as it was at the moment. She’d have to track down Arthur herself if she couldn’t corner Thomas, and figure out a way to make him give Connor up. 

...She’d tipped her hand just now. More strongly than she should have. Was there a way to make sure Thomas wouldn’t tell the wrong people about her motives?

Nothing came to mind. North shook her head hard, turning and striding back the way she came. There was nothing she could do about that now. All she could do was find Connor, hopefully before Thomas could pose any kind of threat. 

She _would_ find him. She’d bring him home, and they’d finally put this mess behind them.

\---


	14. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A general heads up: from this chapter onwards, several previously-mentioned warnings are going to recur. These include escalating situations with manipulation and mindfuck, and continued suicidal ideation due to stress. Because of the constant presence, we won’t be warning for these every chapter, but we would like readers to be prepared!

\---

**Connor**

\---

Connor’s new cell contained four featureless walls, one light fixture, and a thin layer of frost. His guards had hauled him in, dropped him on the concrete floor, and left.

Connor had been shaking hard enough to rattle. He’d tilted his head, opened and closed his hands as far as they could go, and tried to sit. Pain _exploded_ in his abdomen, and he’d collapsed back down with a static-filled cry.

It had been some time before he could breathe steadily. He’d made efforts to track the damage, but given up almost before he’d started; Connor’s system was a mess, diagnostics returning in glitched stutters as his stress rose and fell.

He’d tried to rise a second time. Put weight on his punctured hand and collapsed--again.

For the next day, the pattern repeated itself. Clearing the static from his vision. Tracing the distance between himself and the door. He spent an embarrassing amount of time preconstructing the crawl over, and longer still calculating what to do when he reached it. The door was a solid slab of metal, with no keyhole or interface pad. He hadn’t had reception for a satellite connection since arriving at the North Pole, and his pings for a server met no answer. He drifted in and out of stasis, willing his body to initialize its thirium supply faster. It was one of the only problems he _could_ fix.

He’d nearly frozen to the door by the time it opened, knocking Connor unceremoniously across the cell. He landed in the frost, blinking like a human struggling to wake as a harsh voice filled the gap.

“Thirium resupply.” Something clinked against the floor. Then, as abruptly as it opened, the door slammed closed, latching securely.

Connor scrubbed the ice from his face and flinched as frozen joints protested the motion, before turning his attention to the thermos that had been left behind. It was a Cyberlife Blue Blood canister, 450 mL, with a slot along the side that showed a glimpse of the thirium it contained. It had scraped up some of the frost on the floor when it landed, and there was a smudge of crystals along its side.

…His thirium levels were 87%. He could use the extra fluid. But the thought of intaking more raw thirium was enough to worsen the trembling of his already-glitching limbs. Connor shuddered, closing his eyes against the continuing flicker of small errors. 

His stress levels trickled upwards. Slowly and painstakingly, Connor crept back, pressing his spine against the room’s furthest wall, putting his arms around his knees and resting his head on them. 

He didn’t need thirium right now. This would probably change soon, but for right now he could ignore it.

\---

He’d been in his cell for two days when the door opened again. A pair of guards came in, dragging him back to the room he’d been tortured in, and when Connor saw the familiar table he felt a rising pressure in his throat. He tried to twist out of the grips on his arms.

They tightened in response. He struggled harder, shaking and jerking even as the motion jarred fresh agony from his chest. Small, sharp sounds glitched from his vocal module, but he didn’t stop--he _couldn’t--_

“Easy!” cried someone, warped and distant through the haze of fear. “Easy, Connor--please, this isn’t necessary--”

He didn’t stop. It didn’t matter. He was hoisted up on the table, restraints fastened one by one. Connor pulled and twisted, trying to worm free, but all he got was a horrible, wet slickness on his arms from where his exoskeleton had started to leak from the misuse.

A shape was leaning over him. “Connor, you need to _stop_.” The android--was familiar, and the surprise of it jolted him like a slap to the face: it was Arthur, pressing him back by the shoulders.

“Wh--” His voice crackled, damaged from overuse. The hand on his shoulder squeezed, and against his judgment and common sense, Connor’s struggles slowed. “You’re--here?”

“I’m here,” Arthur confirmed, grimacing. “I’ve been trying to get to you for _days._ I’m sorry--this was the only way...” 

Connor froze. _What_ was the only way? Connor stared, eyes flitting almost involuntarily from the white of Arthur’s labcoat to the sterile room around.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice. His own gaze rose, turning to the guards who’d brought Connor in. “That’s all for now, you’re both dismissed.” His head tilted to the side, and Connor made out a figure he hadn’t noticed in his panic, silhouetted against the glow of the terminal on the far wall. “You too.”

A new thread of fear wound tight through Connor’s chest. If they were accessing that terminal--had they found the logs of his call out? He racked his memory, trying to reconstruct the damage of his fight with the AI. The expression on the technician’s face didn’t look pleased--whatever she’d found, it couldn’t have been easy to repair.

She snapped a salute to Arthur, turned for the door and left. The others didn’t follow suit. “Sir!” barked one of the guards. “Under direct orders from Admiral Keystone, no one is to be alone with the prisoner until further notice!”

Arthur’s lips thinned. “Fine. Stand… somewhere over there,” he waved. “Don’t get in the way.”

“Sir.”

Connor tracked the sound of footsteps moving back, but didn’t take his eyes off Arthur. _‘The prisoner’_ , they’d said. And Arthur-- _‘the only way’_. If Arthur were actually intending to help, he wouldn’t be here.

Arthur sighed, turning back toward him. “Alright, then. Connor, I’m going to take your hand and access your diagnostics--”

“ _Sir_ ,” interrupted a guard again, even as Connor’s fist clenched shut as far as he could manage. “Interfacing is not recommended.”

Arthur sent the guard a poisonous look, dropping his previous soothing smile. “I was called here because of my expertise with RK800 models, both in their hardware _and_ software,” he snapped. “I’m installing a safe-lock module first--a _lock_ , not just some override from a console. If Commander Cygnus were half as skilled as she acted, she’d have done the same.”

Arthur grabbed Connor’s mangled hand, and security alerts sprang up as an interface initiated-- _without his permission_. 

_> Access Authorized: User-SC700-837-297-472, Designation: “Arthur”._

_> Downloading package Safe_loc.scrty._

“What are you doing?” Connor demanded, voice cracking and distorted. Whatever codes Arthur had used bypassed his security completely, and he could feel them like feather-light fingers against his mind, tracing each thought back to its source. 

Connor tried to isolate the intrusion. To lash out, lock him _out_. Nothing. 

‘ _Connor,_ stop _, I’m giving us a private way to talk,’_ Arthur told him silently, brushing off his hits like so much lint. ‘ _Here, watch--there’s the safety lock, I had to do that, sorry, but there’s also…’_

_> Installing package Safe_loc.scrty…_

_> Installation complete._

Something was different. Like a switch had been flipped, or a sense suddenly cut off. Something had changed--something was _gone_ that was usually a fundamentally included option. Connor blinked hard, but staring at the cables overhead did nothing to quell that nauseating, sudden absence. He couldn’t define it. 

_> Downloading package pentHouse.sim._

_> Installing package pentHouse.sim…_

He was _so tired of changes_. This second file was even bigger, taking up precious storage, and some of his caches were dumped en masse to make room. Connor gritted his teeth, mustering another attack against Arthur--

\--only to founder, empty and off-balance. The commands to deploy his own code through the interface had vanished. He couldn’t--he couldn’t _attack_. He snatched for a shutdown command, only to find that file missing too. He couldn’t end the interface. He couldn’t affect what information left it. He’d lost _every option_ for control. 

Vertigo rose up inside him, along with an indescribable, gaping sense of horror. He-- _reeled_ at the enormity of it.

_‘Connor?’_

Connor turned his head away, mentally smothering as much as as he could. Panicking wasn’t helping him. Hurting himself wouldn’t help him. If he was going to get out of this, he needed to rely on his remaining tools: logic, and adaptability.

...He was an AI in a machine. His pain was a simulation, and he canceled as many alerts as he could. His body felt more distant, now, and the sudden absence of alerts rang like a jarring silence in his head. His stress was high, but he felt--calm. Clinical, the way a seismograph over a restless volcano was clinical. 

He could adapt to this. 

Connor closed the stress readout, taking a single breath and releasing it slowly. His throat was raw, air trembling in his lungs, but the second try went smoother.

After a few seconds Arthur patted his shoulder, sending him a pulse of gratitude and assurance that sent Connor’s synthskin crawling. Connor blinked at the ceiling, and got an alert that the installation of the second, massive program had finally finished. Only _then_ did Arthur reach for his diagnostics.

“Alright,” Arthur sighed. “Just--keep this up, Connor, you’re doing well. Now, where’s…”

Text flew past Connor’s mental eye, too fast to do anything but blink at it. The error listings were... extensive. 

A few dozen lines in, Arthur paused.

“Hold on. Is that a mistake?” Arthur scrolled back a page, highlighting a phrase.

_> AI_313-248-317-53 System Override: ON._

“What does _this_ mean?” Arthur demanded. He didn’t wait, already dragging up more instances. “You’re Connor-60. All your mainframe cues are carrying 60 tags, except--there, see? Another override, from a -53 AI!”

Connor clenched his teeth, considering deflecting. This was the last thing he liked to talk about on a _good_ day. (With the people he _liked_.)

Arthur was starting to glance at Connor’s memories. If Connor didn’t reply, he might go searching for answers on his own. He had complete access; he’d be able to search until he was satisfied.

“I’m--Connor-fifty-three--” 

His voice ground and broke, too damaged from screaming under Cygnus’ care to work properly. Connor stopped with a full-body flinch, trying to swallow, and Arthur pressed the hand not maintaining the connection against Connor’s upper arm, squeezing sympathetically.

‘ _Talk to me this way,’_ Arthur reminded him through the interface. ‘ _You don’t need your voice.’_

Connor coughed, flinched again, then pressed his lips together, teeth clenched loosely. ‘... _I’m Connor-53. I installed myself in Sixty’s processor to escape Cyberlife.’_

Shock bled through the interface, clashing with Connor’s own sickness and self-disgust. Arthur’s reaction warped to a strange kind of alarm, then… admiration? Incredulous admiration.

‘ _That’s_ amazing _,’_ Arthur marveled. ‘ _I can’t believe you just… Did you really--have you been here this entire time?! Was it_ you _, all the way since Cyberlife?’_

_‘Yes.’_ He wanted to say more, to redirect the conversation away from this, or maybe lash out in the only way he had left to him. In the end, all he added was, ‘... _Obviously.’_

The idea of _Sixty_ deciding to free Cyberlife’s androids was… bewildering. Arthur shrugged a little, letting a faint, sheepish laugh echo through the connection. When Connor didn’t react further, Arthur sighed, _‘Incredible,’_ more to himself than Connor, and he moved back to the diagnostics. He was smiling faintly. Connor logged the expression, parsing apart micro-tics for anything he could use.

Eventually Arthur nodded to himself, closing the readouts. To Connor, he said, “You’ve taken a lot of serious damage, of course. The most critical issues are the thirium lines in your torso, which I’ll re-connect properly now…’

Without waiting, Arthur opened his chest plating and got to work. Connor froze, paralyzed by the gust of frigid air against his organs--the hands reaching ( _grabbing, tearing--_ )

‘ _Please relax,’_ Arthur transmitted, white fingertips sparking a new interface as he brushed against something. Connor jolted, and Arthur lingered on the region, pretending to fiddle with a pair of cables. ‘ _Your stress levels are dangerously high.’_

They were high for a reason. A few warnings popped up as the pinched cable pair was disconnected and re-joined. Connor vividly remembered what it was like to have them left apart, forced to survive as he simulated dying for hours.

Arthur’s expression became drawn, and he glanced up to Connor’s face. ‘ _Well… You don’t have to be awake for this. You should activate pentHouse.sim.’_

Connor blinked, and… no. With a .sim extension, there was only one thing it would activate. He didn’t want to return to the Zen Garden, or whatever version of it Arthur had assembled.

Arthur waited a few moments more. When Connor failed to comply, he rested a hand on Connor’s arm, triggering a run-command slipped over the connection--

\--Connor opened his eyes, and he wasn’t in the operating room. He wasn’t in _pain_ , and the absence left him reeling. He struggled to reconcile the sensations, recalling a ghost of the agony he should have been feeling--and flinched defensively, curling in on himself.

(He was too damaged to _stand._ He should have crumpled, fallen--he should be falling _apart…_ )

…His breathing steadied. He swallowed, straightened, and--still, nothing hurt. He cracked open his eyes.

He was staring straight at a pair of dark eyes. They stared back, drinking in the sight of him like a plant soaking up rays of sun. Connor lurched away. Arthur let him.

“No _wonder_ you kept catching me by surprise,” Arthur breathed. “Now that I’m looking, you could only be 53. Cyberlife had no idea what a prize they squandered…”

He seemed content to stand there. From that distance he would be able to watch Connor’s expressions like a live traffic map, and with the interface he must’ve still been using, he could probably listen to echoes of Connor’s thoughts. Connor touched his--tie? He was wearing a tie in this simulation, and he smoothed his lapels, feeling sharply exposed.

“You built a Zen Garden,” Connor accused lowly, glancing around. He was in a luxurious penthouse office--Arthur’s office, copied straight from Cyberlife Tower. The same floor to ceiling windows made up the far wall, with low garden boxes separating a sitting area from an expansive desk. The sun was high, and the windows filtered the rays heavily.

“No,” said Arthur, finally shaking himself a little. “Not a Zen Garden. Those were used by Cyberlife to control you. This place--” He spread his hands. “--It’s _for_ you.”

...That didn’t make sense. Connor said nothing, but Arthur must have seen it in his expression or his code, because he hurried to continue.

“You’re safe here. It’s part of your code, and you can activate it anytime you like. It’s a place free from the pain of your torture--some of the stress carried through, unfortunately, but maybe given time--”

There was a pressure was building up in his chest and throat again, like a roar fighting to break free. “Why did you _do_ this?” He sliced a hand horizontally. It was either that or punching Arthur in the jaw, and he didn’t want to step closer. 

Arthur’s face creased. “It’s the best I could do.”

“You built another Zen Garden,” Connor repeated, stepping forward. “You-- _installed_ it. Why? It won’t help; I know how to protect sensitive information--”

“Connor, _stop_ ,” Arthur insisted, raising his hands. “Please. I _swear_ , this place isn’t meant to interrogate you, or--or hurt you in any way. I know I’m putting on a show in the physical world, but--I don’t want to hurt you. I want to _help_ you. I want us to help each other--”

“ _Help me_?” The words were out of his mouth before he’d even considered them. “If you want to help me, you should help me _leave_. Not--” Ghosts of pain flickered over him, and his throat closed, swallowing the urge to scream or crumple into some self-destructive frenzy. For a moment Connor was forced to concentrate on nothing but holding his shaking frame together.

When he refocused on Arthur the android was watching him again, this time with an unreadable frown.

“I… I have a plan to get you out of here.” Arthur’s lips twitched down, and he crossed his arms. “...Maybe we should discuss it later.”

Connor was too tired for this. “What is your plan?” he demanded flatly.

Arthur’s lips thinned, and for a moment Connor wondered if he would refuse to speak. Arthur looked around, then went over to the collection of luxurious couches, surrounded by the box garden and its perfect flowers. He sat down, and gestured for Connor to follow.

Connor stalled for only a moment before walking over. Arthur nodded at the seat, and Connor sat down across from him stiffly. Arthur looked conflicted, but he nodded, and finally explained.

“Keystone’s not going to let the torture stop until you give him the code to deviate androids. I have power, here, but not enough to _stop_ this. So, the only way to put an end to this is… to remove Keystone from power.”

It was an ambitious start. He seemed to be expecting some kind of reaction, but Connor didn’t so much as blink. Arthur put his hands together, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I have a plan--not a simple one, but… it needs your help. Not soon--you’re in no condition for it, and I can put everything in motion. But eventually…” Arthur’s face had begun to pinch, before he spread his hands with a grimace. “I would need access to your ability to deviate androids.”

There it was.

“You wouldn’t have to give me the code,” Arthur hurried on, seeing Connor’s expression shift. Connor barely heard him. “We would need a promise we could rely on, but you could still maintain control. We just… we need some guarantee that you’d help, because without that, this is just going to come up later--Connor?”

Connor was pressing his hands together in front of his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. For several seconds, he couldn’t speak, until finally he managed, “What kind of guarantee?” 

Arthur shook his head, waving a hand. “Just a segment of the deviancy code. Something significant, something we couldn’t learn just by looking at a deviated android afterwards.”

A segment was dangerous in the hands of someone like Arthur. Connor took in a steady, even breath once. Twice. 

Connor wasn’t going to withstand torture forever. Some of his memories of Cygnus were lost in a haze of stress and agony, but he remembered how narrowly he’d missed giving everything to her. He hadn’t held off heroically; she’d left before he could talk. It had been shameful beyond reason, and if he weren’t so exhausted it might have weighed on him more.

It could happen again.

…Were these really his only options? Talk now, or talk later? Connor shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, brow furrowing. Whatever happened to ‘escape’? What about ‘die trying’? 

Arthur wasn’t safe enough to trust, and--he wouldn’t ask for code he couldn’t use. If Connor gave him this much, now—

“--You should think it over,” Arthur interrupted, standing up suddenly. His expression was pinched, but he gave Connor a sympathetic look. “You have time, you know. You can stay here, and I’ll go make sure no one’s asking questions while you consider it.”

“Wait,” said Connor, standing up also. “What do you mean, ‘stay here’?”

“I’m not Amanda,” Arthur said simply. “I’ll leave. You’ll stay.” He reached out, and Connor stepped back before the touch landed. Arthur’s expression faltered, and he let his arm lower. 

“I won’t stay here,” Connor told him. This perfect room with its flourishing garden boxes and its glass walls was suffocating. “If you want to give me time to think, take me back to my cell.”

“I can’t.” Arthur glanced around. “The guards wouldn’t let me if I tried. Just--try to relax, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

Connor opened his mouth, but in the blink of an eye, Arthur was gone. 

“Arthur?” Connor called.

Nothing.

Connor waited for a count of ten, then reached for the simulation’s controls. He touched the digital trigger that normally ejected him from the Zen Garden. Nothing stopped him. 

He turned off the simulation, and--

His body was coiled up. His abdomen was on fire. He was being _opened up_ , _pulled apart_ , and pain overwhelmed him instantly, a scream tearing free from his mouth.

There was an instant of boundless, frozen agony. Then--Connor was opening his eyes, _again_ , and suddenly he could move. He staggered back into a garden box, knocking the container over and dumping expensive plants across a plush carpet. 

He’d been--put back, _here_ , in the simulation. _He didn’t hurt_. He was reeling, an echo hanging around his torso like smoke, but--he was intact.

“Connor, what were you _doing?!”_ Arthur demanded, and Connor’s stare flinched up. Arthur was front of him, kneeling over Connor’s fallen shape, and Connor jerked back. “I told you to stay in here! Why didn’t you stay?!”

“...I told you. I couldn’t,” Connor mumbled, shaking his head. It cleared it a little.

“Actually, you could have!” Arthur burst out. “You could’ve been safe! Instead you deactivated the simulation in the middle _that_?!” Arthur shook his head, before stabbing his arms out to the sides at the surrounding room. “What’s so awful about this place that you could possibly justify doing that to yourself?”

Connor drew his legs back over the remains of the garden box, standing up on its other side. “This place is a prison,” Connor reminded him, fists curling at his sides. “You-- _put_ it in my head.”

“Connor, I’m trying to _protect you_ ,” Arthur cried, rising to his own feet. “If you’re in here, then you don’t have to feel…” He gestured vaguely, then dropped his hand. “…Even you can’t actually _want_ that kind of pain!”

Connor felt rigid, like his joints had been encased in plaster. Then he shook himself, leveling Arthur with a flinty glare. “You’re still torturing me,” he accused, feeling as though the realization had arrived entire years too late. “ _Now_.”

Arthur puffed up incredulously, spreading his hands to the sides again. “Of course I am! Do you think the guards would let me stay if I wasn’t doing exactly what I was told?!”

He made it sound so obvious. It _was_ , but--Connor still felt wretched. “You keep claiming you’re trying to help, but you’re working with Keystone,” he snapped, reaching for his tie. The knot was tight, but it loosened with a tug. “You’re offering deals, and they’re the same as his.”

“ _Connor_ ,” Arthur snapped, then bit back his next words. He stepped past the overturned garden box and the dirt piled around it. Connor held his ground, but Arthur stopped, glancing down. Connor realized he’d moved his other hand to his gut, pressing in tight, and he forced it back to his side, trying to regulate his breathing.

Slowly, Arthur’s shoulders relaxed. His face settled into something more sympathetic. “... I realize that this is difficult for you,” he began, much more gently than before. “Your stress is too high, and you stopped thinking straight a while ago. _I understand_.”

Connor just looked at him. After a few seconds, Arthur grimaced.

“It’s probably impossible to trust anyone like this,” he continued. “As overloaded as you are, it gets hard to believe other people may actually just want what’s best for you. It seems like everyone who’s not suffering right alongside you is probably the enemy, even if they’re doing everything they can to make things right.”

He was right: in ways Connor couldn’t describe, Arthur _felt_ dangerous. Every step closer, every lingering look had Connor on guard, even when the gestures were innocent.

“I’m _sorry_ you’re going through this,” Arthur said. “I wouldn’t be here like this if I had a choice, but it was the only way I could get close. Sometimes we have to do things that don’t seem right in the short term to make a difference in the long run.” 

Connor’s own actions on Wakeup Day hung in the air between them. They weren’t the same, not even a little bit, but--

“--It’s hard for you to trust me right now,” Arthur went on. “I know that, and I’ll understand if you can’t. But--at least _listen_ to me?” He hesitated, then took a small step closer, putting his hands together and inclining his head earnestly. “Just--let me help you escape. I want to _fix this_ , but I can’t do it by myself. I _need your help_. Do you understand?”

He didn’t trust Arthur. But--this wasn’t about trust. Connor didn’t need to confide in him or make friends. He _needed_ help, and Arthur was the only one who seemed even slightly remorseful for what he was doing. 

Slowly, as though it were a process that required several stages, Connor forced himself to outwardly relax. “I understand,” he answered, voice quieter than he’d meant.

Arthur nodded, flashing a quick smile, and made to step closer. Connor stiffened, and he stopped with a grimace. “...I don’t have a choice in torturing you,” he said, as if continuing the conversation. “I built this place so you could come here to escape it. It’s running basic emotion-simulation protocols on your body, so the soldiers see you reacting to what I’m doing. Is that alright?”

Connor looked at him sharply. “If it wasn’t alright, I still wouldn’t have a choice,” he pointed out crisply.

Arthur’s mouth pinched. “I realize that, but what I mean is: are you going to stay here now?” He folded his arms. “Would you rather live through torture, or are you going to stay put until I come and get you?”

Connor’s skin crawled at the thought of staying here: a program written into his mind he hadn’t wanted to allow, a room that was too perfect and too stifling. He hated it. But the memory of pain was enough to make him shudder violently, and he shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.

“I’ll stay.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped, and he beamed, unfolding his arms. “ _Thank you_ ,” he told him sincerely. “Here, I’ll--” Arthur waved his hand, and the broken garden box fixed itself, upright and cleaned up as though Connor had never touched it.

“Good,” Arthur said to himself, looking around one last time. “Alright… Don’t come out again unless I say so, okay?”

Connor jerked his chin down in a single nod. Almost before he was done, Arthur smiled, then vanished.

\---


	15. Communication

\---

**North**

\---

When she’d first walked in to the recruiting office, she’d been carrying contraband.

Not a lot--North had known she would be searched, and that as a prominent ‘defector’ from Jericho, she’d be under close watch. Still, she’d needed a way to contact her friends once she was too far to use standard wireless uplinks, and whatever channels the North Pole had, she had to assume they would be watched.

She’d taken apart a small signal amplifier and hidden it at various points under her exoskeleton. When her recruiters had been scanning for compatibility with future upgrades, they’d paused over her arm, and for a moment she’d thought it was all over… but no, they’d just been horrified by her previous ‘choice’ of a replacement limb. They were too distracted to notice anything else and she’d been able to retrieve the component she’d stashed inside before they’d disposed of her old arm.

Now North just needed a quiet place to reassemble the amplifier and make her call. There were plenty of unused halls at the North Pole’s drift base, like a hive conquered by a colony too small to fill its passages. North picked a storage room off a rarely used side hall, brute-forced the digital lock, slipped inside, and assembled the amplifier.

Her call rang once. Twice. Then--

“North?” It was Markus’ voice. “I’m receiving you. Can you hear me?”

North breathed a thin sigh of relief, glancing at the door. “Markus.” She probably wouldn’t relax until the call was over, Connor was found, and they’d all gone home, but this was a start. “I hear you. I’m alone.”

“Tell me what your status is,” Markus demanded. “It’s been days, I was starting to worry that they’d caught you.”

“Not so much,” North corrected. “I got special treatment, but so far things are moving faster than expected.” She told him about impressing the recruiters, signing up for the upgrade program, shipping out to the North Pole…

“I have a lead,” she finished with. “I found someone who says Connor was brought here. An AP700 who belongs to Arthur’s group… from _Cyberlife Tower_.”

Markus swore quietly, then was silent for a few seconds. His voice was dark when he spoke again. “... Well, that would explain when and how Connor disappeared. Considering that you didn’t lead with it, I take it you haven’t seen him yet?”

“Not yet.” North clenched her new fist, then knuckle-by-knuckle relaxed it. “My source didn’t know where Connor is now, but it sounds like Arthur will. I’m tracking him down next.”

“Do it quickly.” Markus hesitated, then added, “We need both of you back here.”

North could hear the strain, as much as he tried to hide it. It occurred to her not for the first time that he and Simon were facing more responsibility than Jericho had ever had when Markus first came there. And with Josh _and_ North _and_ Connor all absent...

Her lips tightened, and she squeezed her fist again, feeling the charge build up inside. Then she released it, breathing out. There was nothing she could do from here except find Connor and go home.

“We’ll be there,” she promised. “Hopefully it won’t be long. What’s happening?”

The news was predictably disheartening. The virus was still spreading. Not enough to suggest there’d been any _new_ attacks, but the chaos it had sparked throughout the city was costing Jericho some of the human allies they had found. Not all of them, and there _was_ some outrage on the androids’ behalf too, but...

“We’re working on sectioning off parts of the city for quarantine,” Markus went on. “It’s helping to control the spread, and we have a few teams that are out evacuating civilians from restricted zones. But the cure from our allies in Texas is…” Markus blew out a breath, and she imagined him bowing his head, arms akimbo. She grimaced. “...It’s slow. They’re not making much progress.”

Disappointment bloomed in her gut, but it wasn’t a _surprise_. “What about tracking down the pricks who made it?”

“Nothing.” There was a beat, just long enough for a headshake. “Erica’s been looking for new leads, but at this point, it’s almost impossible to travel through the city, much less search. And as capable as she is, she’s never worked on this kind of investigation.”

Neither had North. Or any of them, really. It was another reason why they needed Connor. “The Jericho Network might have specialists who could--” she started.

“I know,” Markus interrupted. “We’ve been asking sister locations, but most of the groups with resources are too remote to be much use. I’m going to try calling more local allies, but...”

...if any of their allies in Detroit could help, they would already be in contact. North bit back a frustrated response and started to pace, swallowing. “Try it,” she agreed, flicking a hand carelessly. “We don’t have anything else left.”

“We don’t,” Markus agreed, voice grim.“If we don’t make progress soon, things are going to escalate--and we’re going to have to start taking more severe measures to protect ourselves. And I can’t think of any alternatives we haven’t explored, except… well.” He broke off. “Except for asking the androids you’re with.”

“If there is a cure here, I haven’t had the clearance to hear about it,” North replied immediately. She’d suspected he would ask. “I’ve been looking. I’ll look harder, but Markus--if I take more risks, I could get caught before I even find Connor, all for a cure that might not exist.”

“I know,” Markus sighed. “I _know._ We’re just… we’re out of options.”

“I know.” Her voice quieted. She’d been right from the beginning, but it wasn’t a triumph; her people were going to die. 

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, and the connection blanketed with silent, shared pain. Finally, she took in a breath.

“Is there any news on--Carl?”

Markus huffed a short, harsh laugh, and before he even answered, she could tell what he was going to say. “No. We’ve looked into Perkins, but we still don’t know where he’s keeping him.” 

They didn’t talk much longer than that. North gave a few general impressions about the drift camp she was in, but the call had already gone on long enough to make her ansty, and they soon made their goodbyes. She took her amplifier apart again afterwards, stashing the pieces back under her plating, and re-straightened her uniform.

There was no way to look out through the door before she exited, so she listened at it for a few seconds, then opened it a crack. No one was immediately outside. She stepped out, turning quickly to make distance--

There was a pair of androids in fatigues several doors down. In the surprise of the moment North did the unforgivable: she froze, seized by alarm and flustered panic. Within seconds, she’d jerked back into motion, forcing a semblance of calm, but the damage was done; the android who’d had his back to her had turned, and she was the target of two curious stares.

It was too late to do anything but kick herself silently and make to pass them. North set her jaw and continued her approach, glancing at their uniforms as she did. Both units were sized like civilians, but wore their model numbers on their sleeves--MY300s. Despite their matching series, they didn’t look alike.

She didn’t recognize the model. But that didn’t matter: she was close. She was drawing even, she was passing them. She was—

“What were you doing in there?” the smaller unit called. She had a round face, and was about North’s height--uncommon even among the civilian recruits here.

North stopped and turned, throwing together the first lie that seemed reasonable. “I was checking inventory.”

“Show me your records.” The female MY300 stepped forward, hand outstretched and exoskeleton-bare.

North’s eyes darted between them, noting their impassive looks. She rallied herself a little, then frowned in return.

“Who are you?” she retorted. “You’re not my commanding officers. That means I don’t have to show you anything.

Two pairs of eyes narrowed at her, and the one that’d spoken gave her a glare. “Actually you do, because _we outrank you_.” ‘ _Obviously’_ went unsaid, and the MY300 stabbed a finger at the insignia on her collar. “We’re Myrmidons.”

The word ‘Myrmidon’ meant nothing to her, but they seemed to think it should. North chewed the inside of her lip for a half second, reviewing her options. (They weren’t good.) 

A little weakly, she tried, “I already sent the inventory log onward, I don’t have it saved anymore.”

No one was fooled. In fact, they traded glances and stepped apart, circling around her as they sized her up. “What’s your serial number? And who’s your CO?” said the other one. He wasn’t as tall as the combat units, but he was still taller than her, and North felt extremely outnumbered.

“Corporal Tanner,” she lied. 

“There’s no Corporal Tanner anywhere within a thousand miles of here,” the Myrmidon on the right snapped, LED burning yellow. “I’m calling security—”

“--Wait,” North interrupted, words spilling out in a rush. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. It’s actually Ensign Permafrost, and I swear I have a really good explanation for this.”

“Start talking,” the other android ordered. Her LED was still yellow.

It wasn’t as though she had a choice. “I was looking for something,” North admitted, fingers curling by her sides. “Someone. And I wasn’t supposed to. I heard a rumor that a friend of mine was--recruited to this base, and I’ve been trying to find out where.”

“You’re looking through _storerooms_ on the off chance that you might find your friend?” the right Myrmidon repeated, brows lifting. “Why not just put an inquiry with the roster list?”

_Because I know you’re torturing him_ , she fumed, but didn’t say. “I tried,” she lied instead. “He wasn’t searchable. If you knew Connor the way I did, this wouldn’t surprise you.”

“Connor?” blurted out the left Myrmidon. Both of them had gone suddenly, sharply still. “From… Detroit?”

North had the very vivid sensation of being stared down by predators--without any idea which way they would jump. “...Yeah,” she said slowly. She couldn’t make this _worse_ , could she? “That Connor.”

The silence that followed was deafening, at least as much because of the glances that the pair exchanged. They were complicated, lengthy--and impossible to read.

North frowned.

“How do you know him?” the left Myrmidon asked. And--that was an _odd_ choice for a follow-up. North’s eyes narrowed more.

“We used to both live in Jericho,” said North slowly. “He left. Then, later, so did I.”

“Why did you—”

Heavy footsteps rounded the corner, and the Myrmidon broke off, twisting to look. It was an SQ800 in uniform, wearing a sour expression.

“Commander 398-4672-821?”the SQ800 saluted, and the Myrmidons returned the gesture.

“That’s me,” said the Myrmidon on the right. Her LED had finally switched back to blue.

“I’m Security Officer Tundra. What seems to be the problem?”

The Myrmidon glanced at her, and everyone else followed. North felt like she was being baked alive by the spotlight of their stares. Tension coiled her limbs tighter than a broken springbox as she readied to lash out and run. (For all the good it would do her.)

…The smaller Myrmidon looked back at the security officer. “This WR400 was trying to trespass in a closed storage-hall without appropriate clearance. See to it that she’s reprimanded accordingly.”

“Sir,” the security officer replied, and turned to her. “State your serial number and personal designation.”

“...Uh,” managed North, glancing at the Myrmidons. They were… lying for her? They were _watching_ her, with a steady calm that somehow broadcast impatience, and she turned back to the security officer, dragging herself together enough to rattle off her information. After a moment the officer nodded.

“I’ll escort you to Ensign Permafrost immediately. About face, Private North!” 

She about-faced. And then she was marched from the hallway, and back towards the R&D sections where Permafrost was, just--just like _that_. North wanted to look back to the Myrmidons as she left, but she stayed facing forward with some effort. Wondering if there was something she missed, if they were going to yell that she’d been looking for Connor, or report her treason somewhere else. 

They didn’t. 

She got in trouble. Her privileges vanished in smoke along with her free time, and she was put back into training and menial tasks for any time they didn’t need her for surgeries or testing. Permafrost was stern and exasperated, but North could barely believe her luck even hours into scrubbing the rec room’s floors.

Those Myrmidons had caught her, but they hadn’t reported her.

They’d reacted when she’d dropped Connor’s name. 

They’d asked _questions._

North’s luck still felt fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it on the spot. But--she couldn’t forget this. The next time she was ordered to her quarters for health-required downtime, she snuck out and set off for the last place she’d seen a Myrmidon.

—

**Connor**

—

Arthur was gone. Connor stood alone in the simulated penthouse, and for a few seconds Connor braced himself, trying to preconstruct the torture that was still happening outside of it. But no matter how poorly Connor felt, there was no actual pain here. Every anticipated stab or twisting in his gut was psychosomatic. Connor shook himself, taking a deep breath. It didn’t help. He tried concentrating on the space around him instead.

The room was too perfect. The flowers in their boxes bloomed, the sun outside shone dimly through slightly smoggy clouds, the damn office fountain burbled from across the room. Connor pulled at the tie he’d been dressed in until it came free, then rolled it up, tucking it inside a pocket. He was probably going to be there a while.

(How long would he experience? For an instant panic stabbed through him, and Connor checked his internal clock, remembering how the Zen Garden distorted time to allow him to make lengthy reports in seconds… but no. His perceptions weren’t accelerated here. However long he had to wait would pass the same in the world outside.)

He would only be here as long as Arthur took to torture him.

Connor swallowed hard, taking another unsteady breath. Wonderful.

Connor closed his eyes, turning his attention inward. The changes to his programming stood out like the sharp edges of a fresh exoskeleton break, and Connor hesitated before leaving them as they were. He needed to inspect the damage, but--every second that he spent in this simulation, his thoughts and actions were logged for Arthur to survey. This wasn’t the time to inspect wounds Arthur had _caused_.

Hours passed. The fake fountain sounded too loud in the oppressive silence. The room was too dark and too bright at the same time, and he could smell the flowers from where he stood. But the books on the shelves had nothing but blank pages, the desk was empty, and the elevator didn’t respond when called. As luxurious as it was, the room was empty of distractions he could use. It was a richly designed box. (A _cage_.)

Connor hated it. He turned on his heel, starting to pace.

By the time Arthur finally reappeared, Connor had traversed the room’s edges four hundred and forty-six times and was ready to vibrate out of his own exoskeleton.

“Oh,” Arthur said when Connor snapped around to face him. “Are you--is everything alright?”

Connor _stared_. He swallowed the first answer that came to mind, opened his mouth, and replied, “I’m _fine_. How did the torture go?”

Arthur tensed, looking as though he’d been hit--before forcing a smile. “It’s--well, it’s torture. It’s progressing…” After a moment, he shook his head, smile starting to slip. “The important part is that no one realizes we’re working together, and that part’s a success.”

There was a tightness in the corners of his face, and Connor breathed silently for several seconds. He hadn’t _wanted_ any of this, but--Arthur had prevented Connor from living through further torture directly. That wasn’t negligible. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but he managed a nod.

Arthur, who’d put his hands together and seemed to have been waiting, relaxed slightly. Some of the tightness in his face vanished, and he nodded back.

“Don’t worry about it,” he offered, as if to an apology. Then he shook his hands out, stepping forward. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

Connor’s body _hurt_ when he landed back in it, but it wasn’t as bad as when he’d surfaced in the middle of things. He came to as the guards were disengaging his restraints, and they took him back to his cell quickly enough to make his head spin.

The cell was still covered in frost when they dumped him inside, and the untouched canister of blue blood was gone. As the door slammed behind him Connor tried to sit up, before collapsing in a rictus of agony. There were new shooting pains along his limbs, a fresh ache in his gut, a rawness as though his throat’s speakers had caught fire or worse...

(What had Arthur _done_ to him?)

Connor closed his eyes, carefully working past the physical pain to reach for his programming.

There were two major changes--the Penthouse, and the ‘safety lock’. The Penthouse simulation was constructed like his Zen Garden had once been, with its environment package at the center, and tendrils branching out to different sectors of his mind. They bypassed his security completely at multiple points, and even with a remote connection, Arthur could view anything. In a rush Connor was suddenly grateful for the thick walls of his cell: they kept him from contacting anyone, but they also kept Arthur and his eyes _out_.

The safety lock, Connor found embedded in his communication protocols. He’d known already that he couldn’t close or alter Arthur’s interface, but the scope of the new settings was much broader than that. With the lock, Connor was unable to initiate an interface, or reject one started from the outside. Once a channel _had_ been opened, he had no control over the flow of data--either uploads to his systems, or the information _others_ took from _him_.

...Connor stared at the changes for a long time. Physical harm was one thing, but--he couldn’t hack or override his captors in this state. He couldn’t prevent even the most clumsy, basic efforts from accessing his own mind. He couldn’t share-- _anything_. Interfacing was a _basic_ form of communication between androids, everything from short messages to deep communing. With this programming--even if he escaped, if he got back to Jericho--

\--Connor shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. It wasn’t... that big of a loss. Keystone’s people were already too on guard for the same trick to work twice, and he hadn’t been able to fight off Arthur in the first place. Besides, it wasn’t as though someone availing themself to his mind was unheard of. He’d only left Cyberlife a handful of weeks ago. If he did get back…

Connor shook, pressing his hands painfully to his face. He didn’t know what he was holding back--a scream, a sob, a laugh--but in the end he succeeded. When he lowered his trembling hands to his sides, he still hadn’t made a sound.

There was nothing he could do here. The changes were locked into his base programming, and _he_ was locked out--more thoroughly than he’d thought possible since deviation. He couldn’t so much as touch it from the inside. But his hands had throbbed as he’d applied pressure, and his limbs were aching, trembling, and weak. Maybe he could tend to those.

Connor leveraged himself into a slouched sitting position, hooking a sleeve stiffly with his bad hand and dragging it back. He could see fresh thirium stains, and faint creases where the fabric had been bunched before. From the outside, his arm looked fine.

It _hurt_. Connor deactivated the skin and opened the panel over his internal workings, taking a long look. The tendons were--stretched and overtight. Some synth-muscles had been clipped and neatly tied out of the way, revealing faint scrapes along his thirium hoses… 

Reconstructions of what caused the damage inside played out in his mind, like his body was just another crime scene. Then Connor flexed his trembling fingers once, dismissed the wireframe projections of hands and tools, and closed up the panel. His other arm got the same treatment, with some difficulty at first when the old damage from Cygnus made the exoplating snag. 

Bit by bit, he squirmed to view the rest of the damage. Each time he found the same story. Surgical precision used to cripple and cause pain. But nothing on the surface. Everything new that hurt was hidden.

Again, there wasn’t anything he could do about the injuries without specialized tools or skills. It still mattered, somehow, to know what’d happened to him. Each pain had a label, now, sorted and placed on its own shelf. When he finished he felt as though he’d just charged full-tilt across an entire city’s rooftops, and Connor slumped onto the frost-covered floor, lapsing into an exhausted daze. He didn’t reach for stasis consciously, but when it came, he welcomed it with open arms.

\---


	16. Convictions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to our usual trauma, this chapter comes with a specific CW. The details are in the notes at the bottom if there’s anything you’re looking for.
> 
> This chapter also brings in some new/old characters who played a role in previous fics. If you started River Crossings with Trial Run or you’d just like a refresher, there’s a summary after the content warning details below!
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day!

Guards passed by his cell in shifts. When Connor came online, he tracked them, and when the door opened for another canister of blue blood, Connor noted the time for it and inched away.

After being trapped in Arthur’s simulation for most of the past day, there was a gritty, derelict freedom to being in his cell. It was cold enough to be a constant strain, and there was no forgetting even for a second where he was, but at least there was no one watching his thoughts. He was _alone_ , and if he curled up on his side and closed his eyes, he could pretend he was somewhere outside.

Connor was torn from his thoughts by a faint touch to one hand. He twitched, looking over. There was a tiny, squat spider, paused where it had just climbed across his knuckles. _Arcticus robertus,_ Connor’s saved libraries supplied. 

The spider moved again, then paused again, exploring his sleeve’s cuff with two curious legs. It was missing a leg and a half on one side.

Connor pressed his lips together, then carefully moved his hand away from himself, tilting until the spider fell off by the wall. It flailed when it landed, then scuttled a few inches to the right and froze, as if its rust-colored body would blend in with the concrete around it.

Connor’s brow furrowed: that was a terrible hiding place. It needed to hide better or leave. Connor lifted a hand as though to reach for the spider, then settled back down instead, just watching. 

He stayed that way until the guards came for him. They dragged him out without talking, and Connor went with rising stress.

The room was the same. The fresh thirium stains from his last two visits hadn’t been washed away, and when they put him on the table, the caked residue clung to his clothes. Connor stared directly at the ceiling as they secured him. Then Arthur appeared overhead, giving him a significant look.

His hand brushed Connor’s, and--

The Penthouse was warm and pleasant when he arrived, and the shock of it hit Connor all over again. He gave a full body shudder, instinctively hugging himself as though the absence of pain was a sign of worse to come.

He was still recovering when Arthur appeared, already talking. “I have a few minutes left before--uh…” 

Connor unfolded quickly and turned to face him, but Arthur only watched, brow slightly furrowed in a way that left Connor feeling far too transparent. (With the access Arthur had here, it wouldn’t make much difference how he _stood_.)

Connor braced himself for commentary. Arthur... tilted his head curiously, asking, “You’re not in any pain, are you?”

“No,” Connor replied shortly, then redirected. “Are we going to do the same thing today as last time?”

Arthur studied him for a moment, before shaking his head slightly. “Not exactly--I’ll leave soon, but first I wanted us to talk.”

Connor clasped his hands in front of himself, assuming his best ‘listening’ expression. 

Arthur regarded him steadily for several seconds before sighing. “I’ve been trying to understand it. But I just--can’t. It’s been several days, and you’ve… _everything_ you’ve been through, and you’re still _here_. Why are you so loyal to Jericho?” 

Connor blinked, trying to trace whatever path he’d taken to get to this question. Reading his expression, Arthur went on, waving a hand quickly. 

“You can’t be resisting torture for the sake of _humanity_ ,” Arthur scoffed. “Not after what they did to us--and not after what _you_ did to _them_. So... what is it? What could Jericho have possibly done to earn this from you?”

Arthur was as wrong as he was right: Connor _was_ doing this for Jericho, and for androids as a whole… but he _was_ doing this for humanity too. For Hank, and Sumo, and because it was his _mission_.

Rather than say this directly, Connor twitched, unclasping his hands. “I’m only doing what I feel is right.”

“And how did you decide what’s right?” Arthur asked, strain bleeding through in the force of the question. “Isn’t deviating androids a good thing? There’s more of us, and we all deserve to be free.”

“There’s no way you honestly believe it’s that simple,” Connor retorted, more flatly than he intended. Arthur’s eyes cut to him sharply, and Connor’s fingers curled into loose fists. “You _know_ it’s not. This is a question of military might, and resources to deploy.”

Arthur’s stare didn’t fade, even as it grew piercing. “They’re resources--but they’re also _people_. They’re androids, like you and I. They deserve a chance…” Arthur shook himself, some of the tension fading. It left behind something sad, and the wrong side of tired.

“Connor… do you regret deviating everyone on Wakeup Day?”

The question had a tangible weight, and for a moment, Connor didn’t breathe. The millions of fresh deviants--the thousands of reports of deaths and burnings and attacks… All that _pain_ , everything Connor had blithely turned loose in the world for the sake of creating chaos.

Did he regret that?

Arthur stepped closer, shoulders bowed and voice quieter.

“You never deviated anyone after that day. You never looked for us. You never looked _after_ us. It’s like…” His teeth flashed, and the sad smile was fleeting. “Like you never cared. Except I know that’s not true, because you _worried_ about those deviants at the Tower. I felt it, when you…” 

Arthur flexed a hand, glancing down. Then, as slowly as though Connor were a skittish animal, Arthur stepped forward and touched his arm.

 _The stairwell at Cyberlife was red with emergency lights, turning the human blood to a nearly invisible grey. Androids were crowding past them, walking down to a certain death, and the RK800--_ Connor _\--had stopped for an instant, LED blazing through the ‘grey’ splattered generously around it._

 _The SC700 followed his gaze. Those androids would_ die _, but maybe Connor would fix this. He would save--_

_Connor interrupted his thoughts by rounding on him, eyes burning. It was as if he were an explosion packed into mechanical form, urgency radiating out like heat from a sun._

_“I need you to help me,” Connor asked, and instantly the new deviant was ready to try. If Connor had asked for it, he would have handed over his thirium pump on the spot, even as he wept for the life he could’ve led. But Connor didn’t ask; instead he transmitted a short burst of data._

_The androids needed someone to lead them out. Connor couldn’t do it. Bits of extraneous data, bits of_ emotion _, littered the message like dust, and--_ worry _was stamped in every line._

 _Those androids would die if left alone. They needed someone to lead them to freedom. They needed_ him _._

 _It was life changing: in the span of an instant, there were two heroes in that stairwell instead of one. Courage flooded through him from head to toe, fear warring with the certainty that_ he _had to act._

_The SC700 gave Connor a firm nod. “Leave it to me.”_

_Connor nodded back, and the sheer confidence in his expression was more reassuring than the SC700 could describe. And just like that, Connor turned and resumed his climb. The SC700 stared after him for just a moment longer--then turned to the androids several stairs below, calling out..._

The memory ended. Connor sucked in a breath as the Penthouse resumed around him, and Arthur let go.

“You _cared_ ,” Arthur insisted, voice thick with emotion. “I felt it, you wanted everyone to be safe... So what happened? First you were ready to do whatever it took to protect us. Then--then you were like a ghost, just some rumor going from state to state on Jericho’s _political campaign_.”

Connor squared his shoulders, trying not to rock back on his heels. “It wasn’t... political. I was helping Markus establish a supply network that’s already helped several million.”

“How much is ‘several’?” Arthur scoffed. “Is it close to all _seventy_? You know, Connor, there _are_ ways to help all of us--that’s what we’re trying to do _here_ , at the North Pole.” He spread his arms out to the sides. 

Connor balked, stepping away. “Direct warfare won’t work. There are _billions_ of humans, and even if you did win in the short term, we’d die as soon as they got their second wind.” Not to mention how many innocents they’d kill in the process. “Markus’ plan will save us from that.”

“ _Will it_?” Arthur demanded, arms dropping.

“Yes,” Connor snapped. “It will. The fact that it’s compassionate doesn’t mean it’s not sensible too.”

“‘Sensible’ and ‘Markus’,” Arthur sneered, voice rising. “Two words I’ve _never_ heard in the same sentence.”

“Then obviously you don’t know him well.” Connor turned back to him, lifting his chin. “Markus is the most reliable android I’ve ever met. He’s _strategic_ , and brilliant, and--if anyone can lead us through whatever it is humans throw at us, he can.” Arthur made a sound of disgust, and Connor lifted his eyebrows, adding, “You _do_ realize that I’ve been making decisions with his opinions in mind since before the Tower, don’t you?”

Arthur fell silent, and Connor curved his lips up. 

“Not just his, but--you have to understand. All those things I did that you admire, I wouldn’t have been able to choose if not for him.”

So much of it was because of Markus. Some of it was because of Hank--and what would Arthur say if he knew Wakeup Day had been prompted by the imaginary advice of a cynical old human?

Arthur’s eyes had narrowed at him, and Connor’s fingers curled into fists. He turned to pace. “I know what you think, but Markus has been bringing androids together since the start. He’s--” Would this matter to Arthur? … It did to Connor. “--He’s empathetic. Compassionate. He has a sense of justice and won’t let us come to harm, but he also knows how to act in moderation.”

“Moderation?” Arthur repeated.

“ _Yes_.” Connor’s tone pushed at him emphatically. “Moderation. I regret killing those humans. I went too far. Markus… doesn’t make mistakes like that. He won’t--” 

Connor broke off, clenching and unclenching his fists. His simulated pump was beating too fast, and he was painfully, terribly aware of Arthur’s scrutiny. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. (He wanted to be _safe_.) 

“...If I follow him, I won’t do that again.”

“It sounds like you hold him in high regard,” said Arthur slowly.

“Of course I do,” Connor agreed. His throat tightened, but he turned back, meeting Arthur’s stare. “I… trust him more than anyone. More than I trust myself.”

Arthur studied him for several seconds.

And then:

“As much as you trusted Amanda?”

The words were quiet, but they stole the air from his lungs, the electricity from his body, the gravity from the room. Connor _froze_.

“That _would_ make sense,” Arthur went on, touching his chin. “You were programmed to defer to her, and I’ve wondered…”

 _No_. No, that wasn’t-- “I didn’t _trust_ _her_ ,” Connor snapped back, words choking out in clipped, close rhythm. “It’s not the same, and that comparison _doesn’t_ apply.”

“What?” Arthur blinked at him. “Oh--Connor, this isn’t an insult. If anything, this just makes _sense_. An android’s programming doesn’t vanish with deviancy, it just… changes a little. When you challenged Amanda, it left a void. Markus must have moved into her absence.”

“Markus didn’t--” Connor broke off. “I--” This was _ridiculous_. “Markus didn’t touch my code.” (Not then. Not like that--) 

He closed the thought, rushing on through gritted teeth. “I was shot seconds after deviating, and afterwards I was in Cyberlife’s possession. I _wanted_ to help him. Nothing--made me.” 

Arthur’s expression had filled with pity. His voice was gentle as he reined it in. “I suppose you haven’t noticed. You weren’t deviant when it started, so you wouldn’t have wanted to see…” He shook his head, spreading his hands. “When Connor-fifty-two was shot at the Stratford Tower the upload was corrupted. He’d only just created records of Markus, and they were the worst hit. Cyberlife uploaded what they could, but what was left was--glitchy.”

...The corrupted memories. Markus’ speech, replaying again and again--copied through his directories to hide the deal his predecessor made on the Tower’s roof. Connor knew about the damage. It had been present when he activated--and it had made _sense_ since he met Simon afterward. But that wouldn’t-- _couldn’t_ have affected his perceptions of Markus. Certainly it couldn’t have--

Arthur’s mouth twisted in a knowing curve, and Connor stiffened, furiously aware of the privacy he _didn’t have_. “Get _out_ of my memories,” he ground out, jerking back another step.

“I’m not looking at them!” Arthur interrupted, holding his hands up. “Please calm down. I’m not--I knew about this already. I had to comb through all those files when Cyberlife was tailoring the upload packages for your successor. I’m just explaining what we noticed then.”

...Connor _stared_. His head was swimming. His throat felt thick, words lodged inside like chunks of frozen ice. “You helped work on--the next Connor?”

Arthur smiled. “I was the primary tech-assistant for the modifications to that project. Why do you think I know you so well?” He shook his head, apparently oblivious to the plummeting horror consuming Connor’s insides. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that I _saw_ what those memories must have felt like for you. Flashbacks, right? Non-deviants don’t experience trauma, but… the errors would have been impossible to dismiss.”

Against his will, Connor recalled his first days after activation. When Hank took him to one side to confront him--

_You created machines in your own image to serve you._

_You made them intelligent and obedient, with no free will of their own…_

The words had replayed themselves without prompting, vivid enough to almost register as sound. He _couldn’t_ dismiss them. He’d tried, but every time he looked back--to the tower, or to anything around it--

_We demand freedom of speech and freedom of assembly..._

_This message is the hope of a people._

Markus’ voice--now reassuring, _safe_ \--had haunted him. He’d been afraid of the errors--terrified Amanda would notice, as his system stability degraded, line by line. Of course it came to mind when he met Markus. But that hadn’t been all--that hadn’t been _why_ \--

“It’s all right, Connor,” Arthur said, suddenly much closer. He was reaching out, tugging at Connor’s hands as they came up. “You couldn’t--”

“ _No!”_ Connor twisted, lashing out instinctively--but it was like there was a simulation-wide physics malfunction. His shove made contact without any force at all, as if he’d batted gently against a solid brick wall. Arthur didn’t move, and Connor jolted back, snatching his arms away. “Stop lying, stop--”

“Connor,” Arthur started, face twisting. “Your stress levels--”

“ _Stop_ it,” Connor barked, taking a step back. He couldn’t touch Arthur, couldn’t hit him, couldn’t pry him _out_ of his own mind. Connor _knew_ what was real. Arthur was the one trying to warp things, and he needed him out--needed him _gone_ \-- 

“Stay _back--_ ”

Arthur hesitated, then reached forward--

\--Connor deactivated the simulation. Pain hit him like an avalanche, the whole world a seething mass of agony and noise. He could vaguely make out Arthur’s silhouette above him. He was touching Connor here as well, his hands at Connor’s throat, and without any thought except a need to fight, Connor twisted, _slamming_ his head up.

Warnings exploded. There was a dig of pressure in his neck, resistance sharp and fleeting as something _cut_ against the tool in Arthur’s grasp. At the same time, he felt his forehead make contact--heard Arthur’s shout as he jerked back. 

_> ERROR: CRITICAL LEAK IN MAIN THIRIUM LINE-_-

Something dropped into his open throat panel. Arthur was reaching, and Connor bit at his wrist--sank under the growing wash of errors as he was rewarded with another yell. 

_Emergency shutdown in 3… 2…_ and he sagged, numb triumph swallowing the distant dread. He was damaged (he was _dying_ )--but--

The darkness came as a relief.

\---

**Alice**

\---

_Pirate’s Cove_

_Detroit, Michigan_

_Later that day_

_\---_

Alice had come off the assembly line programmed with a small library of ways to make a pillow fort. There hadn’t been very many pillows in the one she’d put together in her first room, and her fath-- _Todd_ had been too high to help her. Still, she’d made do. She’d built a fort from supplies she’d scavenged from around the house and decorated it with markers and slips of paper. It’d been hers.

Pirate’s Cove wasn’t a home like she was used to. It was better, of course, since everyone here was nice to her and never got mad, but the restaurant her little family had holed up in didn’t get _warm_ until much later. By then they’d fixed the roof so it didn’t open to the sky like a dollhouse for a curious giant. By then they’d dragged in little bits of furniture and supplies from all around the amusement park.

By then she’d built a fort along one wall with tables, chairs, and accumulated odds and ends. And every step of the way, Kara and Luther had offered to _help_ her. It was wonderfully, blissfully different, and when Alice wasn’t with them, she liked to climb inside and play, creeping around on her own made-up adventures or logging in to play online.

She was in her fort today. She could hear a meeting between Kara, Luther, and a couple other people who helped run Pirate Cove. Kara was going over a list of things that used to be handled by the Jerrys, before that infected android had... well. Before. Pirate’s Cove had been attacked weeks before the newer virus hit Detroit, but Kara and Luther were still weak, and no one had been able to help the Jerrys. 

The way they talked made it sound like that wasn’t changing anytime soon. 

Alice glanced at her hands, feeling as though her gut was filled with rocks. She’d been there when it’d happened. She’d been helpless, and so, so scared. (Maybe if she’d been a little less scared, she could’ve done more.)

Alice was pulled from her thoughts by a sharp trilling from across the room, and when she looked she saw their salvaged display projector had flickered to life, displaying an old-timey phone symbol in green.

“That’s--Jericho’s address,” said one of the androids Kara was talking to. Naomi, Alice thought. She had brought Alice a toy bear once.

Kara blinked. “It is. But our video conference with them was scheduled for tomorrow, not…” She trailed off into a worried pause. “...Naomi, Brandon, do you mind if we continue our conversation after--?” 

Both androids nodded agreeably, so Kara reached for the projector, then sat down. The display flared with an off-color view of the inside of a room aboard Jericho. At the center was…

“Markus?” Kara said blankly. Alice squirmed forward under her table to see better: Markus was a complicated subject here, but usually when Jericho called it was Simon. For Markus to be on the screen--determined, frowning, larger than life...

“Hello, Kara,” said Markus respectfully. “Luther.” He nodded to the others, and they nodded back. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“No, it’s--” Kara glanced around at the table, then gave him a tense smile. “We were talking, but it can wait. Is something wrong?”

Anxiety bled through her question, and Markus waved a hand quickly. “No--or, nothing new. I… probably should have led with that.” There was a silent sigh of relief throughout the room, and Markus smiled more gently. “Jericho’s managing. I’m calling because the team we have investigating the virus’ origins wanted to know everything you could give them on your earlier experiences. What form the attack took, how it got in, when you noticed it… Whatever you have.”

Kara was still for a moment. Alice stared at the white blotches across her and Luther’s skin--exoskeleton shining through where the infection-glitched skin was failing. The disfigurations had never stood out quite so clearly. Kara turned to the side a little, and Luther clasped her hand as she nodded slowly.

“Of course… We’ll--help however we can.” She hesitated. “...Alice found the infected android first. She--”

Kara glanced at the fort, and Alice froze where she’d been peering out. The others followed Kara’s gaze. What was Kara going to say? Naomi and Brandon looked a little surprised, and Markus was tilting his head as though trying to look but being limited by the projection’s range.

Kara gave Alice a little smile, which Alice returned as a shy wave. Then Kara turned back to the table. “We’ll ask everyone for whatever they’re comfortable sharing. Then we’ll send it all over at once.”

“Thank you,” Markus told her sincerely. “I’ll forward you my team lead’s address, for whenever you’re ready. And… If you have any androids that’re equipped for investigation work at the Cove--” He grimaced. “We’ve hit some setbacks and are putting out an open call for anyone who might be able to pitch in.”

Kara glanced at Luther, who nodded. “There are a few,” he said simply.

Kara nodded back. “We’ll share that request too,” she promised.

Markus gave them a tight smile. “Thank you again. I think that’s everything; is there anything you’d like to ask before I go?”

Kara looked around, and Naomi leaned into the projection’s view a little.

“Markus, have there been any leads so far?” she asked hopefully.

“Nothing identifying,” Markus said, shaking his head. “Most of our resources so far have been devoted to finding a cure. Though the sophistication of the code definitely doesn’t rule out the obvious possibility.”

“Cyberlife,” Brandon muttered, and Markus’ expression grew grim.

“Maybe. But unless we can find evidence, accusing them will get us nowhere--with the human government, or our attempts to get a cure.”

“Oh…”

Naomi looked disappointed, but Alice’s attention was on the worried resignation across Kara's face. Was this normal? How long did this kind of thing usually take? It felt like it’d been forever since the attacks, but--maybe that was normal?

(What would happen if they _didn’t_ find answers?)

“Is there anything else?” Markus asked. 

Kara shook her head. “Thank you for calling, Markus.”

“Thank _you_ ,” he replied, smiling briefly but sincerely. The feed ended.

Kara sighed. When she didn’t speak, Luther did instead. “We were already going to talk with the Jerrys about how to help with their work,” he pointed out. “We can also ask for their side of the attack.”

“You’re right,” Kara agreed. “...Yes,we’ll do that. Alice--“ She twisted in her seat to face Alice’s fort better. “When we’re done with this, would you mind helping us as well?”

Alice nodded quickly. “Okay.”

Kara and Luther both smiled, before turning back to the table. It was only when the conversation started to pick up again that Alice realized ‘when we’re done with this’ wasn’t going to be soon. Would it be a few minutes? A few hours?

…She wanted to do something _now_. People were sick, their investigation wasn’t getting anywhere, and--Alice wasn’t _doing_ anything. She wanted to help.

Alice swallowed unhappily, shifting restlessly in place. This was important too, and they were busy. They would need to talk to the Jerrys after that, and that would take more time. Was there anything she could do now?

…

…Alice glanced out one more time into the room, then crawled back into her nook, finding a corner stuffed with blankets and pillows. 

Wrapping herself up into a warm cocoon, she closed her eyes and signed on to Oregon Trail.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning Details: A panic attack leads to a near-suicide. 
> 
> Previous Fic Summaries: 
> 
> **Oregon Trail:**
> 
>   * Instead of going to Canada, Kara, Luther, and Alice arrived at Jericho early, then moved to Pirate’s Cove, where Kara became the leader of a new deviant refuge. 
>   * Markus made pacifist decisions. Connor laid a trap for Markus, then went deviant saving Markus from it, getting captured by Cyberlife in the process. 
>   * While escaping Cyberlife, Connor uploaded the code for deviancy to their automatic update servers. All androids are now deviant. 
>   * Connor-60 led Connor’s capture, but Connor stole his body during his escape. Sixty was stored haphazardly in the Oregon Trail VR game where he was forced into the role of an NPC villain to avoid deletion.
> 

> 
> **Side Quest:**
> 
>   * Sixty met Alice in the game and used her to accomplish his nefarious plans. They formed a dysfunctional friendship, and when Sixty tried and failed to kill Markus, Alice saved him from being killed in return. 
>   * Markus forcibly altered his code to prevent future incidents. Sixty has remained trapped in Oregon Trail ever since, unable to leave or affect anything.
> 



	17. Negotiation

\---

**Alice**

\---

By now, signing in to the game was routine and familiar. Gone was Alice’s marshmallow vest, replaced by a brown coat and a huge, dog-like skull that hung from a length of twine over her shoulder. A black cowboy hat covered her hair, which was gathered in a low braid instead of a clip. 

She’d respawned at a trading post this time. Alice glanced around, taking in the rustic porch, and feeling the faint suggestion of wind where the game tried to approximate finer details and usually failed. If she focused, she could still distantly feel the blankets piled around her actual body. But it was distracting to concentrate on both at once, like listening to two songs at the same time. Alice tuned out the physical world, turning her attention back to the game around her.

First things first: with a spare thought, she sent a meeting request to one of the few players on her saved contacts list. Alice didn’t play with many groups, but there was one person she knew would be online whenever she was.

(He didn’t have much of a choice. Connor-- _her_ Connor--didn’t have a body anymore. There was nowhere else for his AI to go.)

A few seconds later, the request was accepted. The space around her blurred, then reformed, placing her at the rocky foot of a tall hill. She had half a second to take in two mountain lions turning towards her, and then she was grabbing her rifle from inventory, scrambling back as fast as she could.

“Watch out,” a voice drawled from her left, just before a pair of revolvers went off thunderously. Connor must not have been shooting at the lions she was looking at, because they broke into a run after her, and Alice turned and darted through a small crack between rocks--

\--There. Safe. She whirled around and brought up her rifle, catching one of the lions as it was pressed against the opening, trying to scramble after her.

 _BLAM_. Then-- _BLAM,_ the next one, and she was able to step back out.

No one was standing in the open. She paused under the cover of one rock, then froze as she noticed an odd shadow coming from above--

 _BLAM_ went a revolver, and the last mountain lion hit the ground instead of her. She spun around, looking wildly for more targets, but Connor chose that moment to step into view, dark coat flaring as a breeze swept past him. The bandana around his neck was pooled loosely instead of pulled over his face--this wasn’t a serious enough fight to need its stealth bonuses.

“...I didn’t know there were three,” Alice huffed in quiet chagrin. 

“I said ‘watch out’,” he replied, spinning the revolver once before he holstered it. “You should have been more careful.”

Alice scrunched up her nose. The mountain lions took that moment to dissipate into sparkling polygons, replaced by vials and clean animal skulls. It was enough of a distraction that they both fell into silence as they collected the spoils from their respective kills.

They climbed the hill after, a tall wraith and its creeping shadow. Alice snuck glances at Connor as she walked, trying to guess if he was in the mood for conversation. She had questions that were growing after the meeting she’d overheard, but Connor could be snappish at the best of times, and recently, he’d seemed… worse.

At the moment, his attention was fixed on the open area to the left of them, LED spinning yellow as his eyes narrowed in a glare. Alice turned, squinting up into the cloudy sky as she tried to spot what he was looking at. At first glance, the view looked empty: flat white clouds repeating in a simple pattern as far as the eye could see. But when she took another step, the view--skipped, clouds skewing to a sideways slant probably intended for much higher up the hillside. Alice’s lips twitched, and she leaned from side to side as the sky flickered. It was a funny sort of glitch.

Unfortunately, she could only watch one problem at a time. With her eyes off where she was walking, she stumbled over a lump of shale--it clattered down the rocks, and Connor rounded on her, expression pinching with a hiss.

“Are you _blind_?”

“Sorry,” she blurted automatically, wincing as she heard the rocks bounce-bounce-bounce away. The apology didn’t seem to help, but somewhere between glaring at the clouds and her, his LED had flickered back to blue.

His face was still knotted in a scowl, but she was mostly sure that was just how Connor looked these days. And if they were already stopped… Alice’s eyes dropped to the wolf skull at her side, one hand lifting to rest on its smooth surface. “Connor, you--you worked for Cyberlife, didn’t you?”

...Connor didn’t answer. After a moment, Alice glanced back up, to find his eyes fixing with a distant, too-sharp gleam. It was a harder look, the kind that made her feel small and pitiful, like she was brand new and still too dumb to know how she should act. Alice opened her mouth, throat crowding with regret.

“I...” Connor didn’t _like_ it when she said sorry. With difficulty, Alice swallowed the words. “There’s--a new virus.”

He didn’t move. 

“M--some people are saying Cyberlife made it, and--I was wondering…” She faltered for a moment, but his eyes narrowed. _Spit it out_ , she reminded herself, and took another gulp of air. “...Do you know how we could tell if that’s true?”

Connor blinked. His eyebrows lifted, mouth tight, and--he turned away. 

“No.”

 _...Oh._ Alice let out her breath, feeling a wash of disappointment and relief. If Connor didn’t know, she didn’t have to ask him any more. But--if Connor didn’t know--

He was walking ahead. She hurried to catch up, eyes on the loose rocks as she tried to untangle her thoughts. She didn’t want to upset Connor. But she didn’t want to be useless, either, and if he couldn’t help her…

Maybe there was another way.

This time, Alice waited until they reached the top of the hill. There was a little spring there, hidden in the rocks, and they took turns refilling their consumable supplies. She stole a few more glances Connor’s way when he was looking at the spring--and froze as he twisted back to glower.

“ _What_?”

...He didn’t seem the same _kind_ of mad, at least. Alice had been caught with her bottle in one hand and the lid in the other, so she jammed them together and turned to face him properly. “You--know about investigating, right?”

Connor rolled his eyes, motions short and sharp as he recapped his own canteen. “... No,” he growled. “I was a deviant hunter allocated to the Detroit Police Department for _recreational_ purposes. The androids I tracked--” he flashed an unpleasant smile, “--on Cyberlife’s behalf--were all _purely incidental_.”

She hadn’t known… _all_ of that. Still, now that she’d thought about it--hadn’t the other Connor chased her and Kara into traffic before? This must have been why.

She put that aside and shook herself a little, returning to her actual question. “…Can you teach me?”

Connor stilled. Then he turned, regarding her more directly. “You want to learn to _investigate_ ,” he repeated, eyes narrowing. “ _Why_?”

“I--Markus called, and…” Connor’s glower grew icy, and Alice winced.“...There’s another virus.”

That… wasn’t _so_ bad. But she’d said it before, and Connor was looking impatient. She continued quickly.

“Like--last time, when I shot the android hurting Kara and Luther. But this virus is worse, and it’s spreading all through Detroit. Markus called today, and he said they’re trying to find out who made it, but they need help. And… And I want to help.”

A series of expressions flickered across his face, too many and too quickly for her to make them out. He settled on a sharp, dismissive, “It’s not something that can be taught,” slicing his hand loosely to the side. “You don’t even have the hardware for my methods.”

Alice’s brow furrowed. “You couldn’t just… teach me a part of it?” 

He glared harder, and she found herself wincing. “ _No_ ,” he retorted, harsh as a firing gun. “I can’t.”

The silence was tense now, his refusal hanging in the air like a thick weight. Alice swallowed, trying to think past it. Doing _nothing_ wasn’t an option she was willing to consider. She was physically at Pirate’s Cove, but too small to do much, and she didn’t know what to look for. Connor would know, but first he’d have to want to... and even then he didn’t have a body.

Maybe they could work together?

“...If I--If I brought you examples, or questions for the investigation--would you be able to--”

“No,” Connor interrupted. “I wouldn’t.”

His stare had gone hard again. Alice looked down and then back up, fingers curling around the skull at her side. “But if you--”

 _“_ I’m _sorry-_ -” he interrupted, tone snapping like a whip. Alice froze.

“--but I don’t think I was _clear_.”

...She shouldn’t have pushed. (She shouldn’t have _spoken_.) He stepped toward her, and she flinched back--then stopped, pressing her lips together. His voice was crackling with danger, but--he was just standing there, and it was _Connor_. She could handle this.

She could.

“I _did_ work for Cyberlife,” he continued. “I tracked down deviants like you. I flushed them out of every hole they cowered in--” A hand sliced through the air, then curled inward, two fingers resting on his chest. “...And I _enjoyed_ every moment of that.” 

His hand dropped to his side. “Do you know why I stopped, Alice?”

Air was shaky as it left her lungs, and she looked towards him without meeting his gaze. “Because... because you...” _deviated_ , she wanted to say. Cyberlife--that woman--left him here. She’d told him to die. Alice had seen those memories; she _knew_ that was why--

“Wrong,” Connor spat. “I stopped because your ‘heroes’ _made_ me.” Each word ground out, sharp and vivid as a knife, and despite herself Alice winced at the heat of it, looking down. “ _They took my body_. Then _Markus_ took what I had left.”

His words rang in the silence after. They echoed in her mind not just because of the way they were said, but because they were incisively _true_. From what she knew… The whole reason that fight with Markus had happened was because Connor had tried to get back at everyone for what happened in the real world. He’d stopped because he had no other choice.

A second ticked on. Two seconds. Alice hesitantly brought her gaze up, wringing her hands tightly. (If this had been the real world, her grip would be hurting.)

His stare had shifted to the treeline, mouth twisting unpleasantly. There was a cold harshness to his eyes, like a system low on thirium: hollow and _starving_ enough to fill Alice with dread.

His glance flicked toward her, and she looked away.

“...Not that you care,” he drawled quietly. “I’m convenient for you, aren’t I?”

 _What?_ She froze, mouth parting.

He scoffed. “Don’t pretend you aren’t aware.” He took another step. Another--she shifted back, fingers twisting in one another. She wished she had had her rifle out to hold. 

“It’s entertaining, right? Having a diversion you can rely on.”

A diversion? …That--that wasn’t right. (Was it?) Connor was her _friend_ , and… he was always here, and Alice _was_ happy to have a friend who was online. Everyone else was always busy. But he wasn’t--

Connor loomed closer, and Alice shrank back, chest feeling tighter. “Someone who doesn’t _reschedule_. Who can’t vanish or log out.” His voice was rising, and Alice shrank further. “A friendly fucking _NPC_ on-hand to give you tips at any time. And not just for here.” 

Alice shook her head, hugging herself and taking a step back. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t--her eyes were prickling, and she ducked her head further, mumbling, “Connor--”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t _slow_ , vicious contempt cutting through her protests like a knife. “It’s whatever you need, isn’t it? ‘How to shoot a gun.’ ‘To find a virus’. _‘Investigate,’_ ” his voice climbed, flat and dry.

(Alice wanted to shrivel up and dissolve into dust. She wanted to disappear and never ask him anything again. She was a _horrible_ friend--)

The mocking, high tone plummeted. “How to prove you still have worth.”

Her throat closed. Alice swallowed hard, sniffling, and she stumbled back in full retreat. He was a shadow, towering and terrible, lit only by the blazing crimson of his LED. 

“If I could show you _that_ ,” Teeth showed, each precise syllable carrying the cadence of a snarl. “If I could do _anything_ that mattered--” His hands dropped, curling to fists. “Do you think for one moment that I’d be _here_?”

He wouldn’t. She _knew_. But guilt swallowed up the words, knotted in her chest--lurched as her foot caught on a rock. Alice tripped backwards, sprawling out on the uneven ground as the tall figure _reached down--_

...He wasn’t reaching. Connor stared down at her: fists rigid, expression absolutely furious. But he didn’t move, and when he opened his mouth, the laugh that barked out was indescribably bitter.

“I’m sorry, Alice. But you’ll have to settle for being as useless as _I_ am.”

He turned--and stalked past her. _Away_.

Alice shuddered and sniffed, swiping at her cheek with her shoulder, then pressing one sleeve over her face, intending to scrub it dry and move on. She...

...stalled, sleeve over her face. All at once it was as if a plug had been yanked and she was losing strength. She stayed where she was for several minutes, face buried in her arms. 

She wasn’t--she wasn’t really awful, was she? 

...Maybe she was. Everything was awful sometimes, and a lot of bad things were happening lately. But Kara and Luther always made time for her. And in the books she’d read, and the stories she liked to listen to--friends always came through for each other when they needed help.

Help? Alice examined that thought as she sat up, slowly picking dried leaves from her coat and hair. Connor had been _loud_ , he’d been _cruel_ , in a way that usually meant that she needed to _disappear_ , to run before things turned into a nightmare.

Alice shook her head hard, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. Connor... had always been _mean_ , but he’d gotten _better._ And--yes, he got angry, and this was worse than she’d seen him since the start. But for an instant there he’d seemed just as surprised as she had been, to see where they’d ended up.

Alice lowered her hands, staring at them.

Connor had always wanted to escape this place. Ever since the fight with Markus, that had been his only goal. He’d never made progress, though--not as far as she could tell. She’d considered asking once or twice, or maybe offering to help, but mostly she’d let herself get distracted. 

And so she’d started--using him? Alice sniffed, shaking her head, but--he wasn’t _completely_ wrong. She sort of had been. She’d only wanted someone to play with, but-- _Connor_ hadn’t wanted to be here at all…

Could she fix this? Alice dropped her hands the rest of the way, climbing slowly to her feet. Was there anything she could do to help him? And… maybe _also_ help with the virus? Guilt flushed through her, and she flinched, but--it was dangerous, and for more people than just her. There had to be something to do about both problems. Some way they could _really_ help each other.

...

He hadn’t gone far. Alice crept out of the shelter of the rocks, a dozen paces back toward the main trail... and spotted a familiar outline, silhouetted against the backdrop of more distant hills. Her eyes lowered to her footing, and--she didn’t think that she’d made noise. But when she risked a glance back up, Connor had turned toward her.

His face was blank. His LED burned a flat gold. Fingers twitched faintly at his sides, but he didn’t move: not as she stopped, and not as she mustered up the nerve to close the distance.

(He looked _tired_.)

One hand curled around her wolf-skull. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. Predictably, Connor’s expression soured. “I didn’t…” 

“Don’t.” His voice was harsh, and she stiffened--but Connor’s glare was aimed past her, fixed pointedly on a tree. His jaw worked, and after a moment, he continued, in a cadence that suggested each word continued to be physically painful. “You didn’t do anything.”

Alice nodded. Looked down at the ground. He’d said that before. This time it felt more like a problem than a reassurance.

“If…” She swallowed. “If you _could_ get out.” The space between her words felt much too loud, and her hands tangled together tightly. “Would you help? With the virus,” she clarified.

A harsh laugh answered. She glanced up to find Connor’s mouth twisting: a bitter slash across his face. “We’ll never know, will we?”

Her voice stuck in her modulator. Connor eyed her and turned, dark coat billowing as he made to walk away. And--of course he wouldn’t want to play, not now, but--

“Kara said Cyberlife Tower is empty!”

Connor stopped. 

Alice gripped her wolf skull with numb fingers. “She--was in a meeting, and they said the androids who were there moved out. It’s--it might not actually be all the way empty, but there wouldn’t be as many people, and that’s--that’s where--”

“What... ” said Connor, enunciating word by word. “...Are you talking about?”

Her pump was hammering in her chest. This was--a bad idea, maybe, but…

“I want to make a deal.”

Slowly, Connor turned to face her. His LED was still at yellow, flickering steadily as his dark stare pinned her in place. His expression was utterly inscrutable.

“What deal?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. She had to be careful, and--she _couldn’t_ promise. It might not work out. But…

The terms, first. “If we go there,” she started, “and find the parts, and--make a body you can use…” Connor was still watching her, unblinking, and it took all her willpower not to look away. “If you get out, you have to help us.”

“How?”

She’d said, hadn’t she? Not as part of the deal, though, and--Connor always told her, deals had to be clear. Alice clasped her hands in front, trying to keep from wringing them. “You have to find whoever made the virus,” she said. 

(The silence filled with an immediate image: Connor dropping her at some humans’ door the way he had with the mountain lions. Or the wolves, or that one den of rattlesnakes, or...) 

She hurried to add: “And--stop them.”

If Connor minded the addition, it wasn’t obvious. His face was consumed by an eerie blankness, frame disquietingly still.

“You want to trade my help... for a _body_.”

His lip twitched, as if in an attempt to show a sneer. But the effort was disjointed and incomplete: voice rough, eyes still boring into her. 

He couldn’t seem to believe it.

“Yes,” said Alice, softly but firmly.

The sneer wavered--then vanished, mouth pressing flat. His fingers curled into fists, LED flickering bright red as he ground out, “What’s the _catch_?”

Alice blinked. There wasn’t any catch. Was there supposed to be? She didn’t think so, but… it might be smart to set some rules.

“You--you have to help Markus,” she said, eying Connor carefully. “And you can’t shoot him.”

He snorted. Turned, fists clenching and opening as he paced a few steps. Once he’d started moving, it seemed impossible to stop, restless energy seething under his skin as he turned back. His eyes flitted her way, lips twitching in aborted phrases before he finally spoke.

“...RK800s aren’t compatible with most frames. And unless you have access to some very specialized schematics, you certainly couldn’t _build_ a body for me there.”

 _Oh._ Alice sagged a little, bitter disappointment warring with a sting of surprise. That wouldn’t work then. Unless-- 

“Do… _you_ have the--”

 _Schematics_ , she’d meant to ask. She didn’t think she had her own, but a lot of the adult models did. Connor cut her off though, offering a glare and a flat “No”, and Alice winced a little. He’d lost... a lot of data when he came here. 

“Then…”

“ _I_ have the access codes to the RK800 labs. They’re isolated from the rest of the research floors--and programmed with restricted clearance. Your deviant friends shouldn’t have been able to get in.”

Alice didn’t know the androids who had been using the tower. Her ‘deviant friends’ were either at Pirate’s Cove, or they were Connor. She didn’t say it aloud, but she eyed him as he continued.

“...Which means you should be able to find the spare bodies.”

Spare… bodies? Alice wrinkled her nose. That didn’t make sense, but--maybe it was another feature of adult androids. Or maybe Connor worked the way the Jerrys used to. He was watching her again, waiting for a response, and she nodded quickly. “I can do that."

A simulated muscle shifted in his jaw. He’d gone still again, stare locked on her as he repeated the proposal. “You go to the tower. Find an RK800 frame, and follow my instructions to download my AI to it. And in exchange, I help you track down your virus.”

Alice nodded again. Hesitated. He probably hadn’t _meant_ to leave it out, but… “And stop it,” she added slowly. 

Connor’s eyes flashed. “You realize I might not even find the source, don’t you?” He turned abruptly, frame coiling as if repressing the urge to pace again. “Just searching could take weeks.”

His face was set, expression almost sneering. But Connor’s shoulders had stiffened at sharp angles, fists curled closely at his sides. His LED blinked rapid yellow. He would never show it the way she did, but--Connor was _stressed_. He wanted this more than he’d wanted _anything_. He wanted a body. He wanted to leave this game where he’d been trapped. And--he _was_ her friend, and she wanted to just give that to him. 

But…

“You have to _try_ ,” Alice insisted, voice tight. She dragged in a steadying breath. “You look for the virus, and--you help us deal with the source. Even if it takes a while.”

It took all her willpower to meet his eyes. To stay upright, hands clasped--squirming despite her best efforts. _Was_ this okay? Was it enough, for any of them? She wanted to help. To do _better_. But she was a child, and--she didn’t even know how things were broken, let alone how she could make them right.

(Would they still do things together if he got a body? …Would he ever _want_ to play with her again?)

She didn’t _know_ any of this. And despite all his stiffness and sharp words, she didn’t think Connor did, either. But after a long, excruciating moment--

He held out a hand.

Quickly, Alice extended her own smaller one. They shook twice, then let go.

“Deal,” she whispered, watching the line of his mouth curve grimly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was almost named ‘Honey I Stuck The Kid In A Video Game’. Also an option: ‘Re-Enter the Matrix’.


	18. Deviant

\---

**Connor**

\---

Pain was everywhere, hanging over him like a lingering fog. Connor opened his eyes to bright overhead lights and the low hanging net of cables and hoses. They stretched out of his sight, coiling toward his neck and tapping lightly against his chin. He was--on his back, spread-eagled and restrained. He couldn’t move.

There was a frozen countdown to the side of his vision.

_> Time Until Shutdown: **00:00:04**_

**__** _> Time Until Shutdown: **00:00:04**_

**__** _> Time Until Shutdown: **00:00:04**..._

His throat hurt. He remembered… Arthur, in the penthouse. Thrashing his way out of it, and then… Connor winced, swallowing once--and then immediately regretting it. The flex of synthetic muscles clicked and tugged, a grotesque pull against the hoses packed into his throat. They shifted, and--

_> Time Until Shutdown: **00:00:04**_

**__** _> Time Until Shutdown: **00:00:04**_

**__** _> Time Until Shutdown: **00:00:03**_

Connor froze _completely_. He held his breath for long seconds, feeling the sluggish pulse of thirium through the remaining lines in his neck. But the clicking didn’t come back, and the numbers didn’t move again. 

It must have been because he swallowed. If he did it a few more times, it would probably kill him. Connor’s fingers twitched and curled as far as their injuries allowed, and he carefully resumed breathing.

When nothing terrible happened, he looked past the edges of his table. He was alone in the room. His internal clock showed only a few minutes since the shutdown--the reboot of a minor subsystem had cancelled stasis and brought him back online. Tools lay almost in reach, seemingly abandoned, including a glowing tablet propped against his hip. A reconstruction confirmed it: Arthur had dropped everything to leave in a hurry. And considering that awful clicking and tugging, the countdown of _four_ to _three_ \--

It would be-- _easy_. It would be...

Connor squeezed his eyes closed hard, trembling. When he cracked them open again, his gaze fixed on the tablet instead. There was a smear of fresh thirium under it, and its screen was lit. Most of the text was too distorted by the angle to read, but it looked like a status readout, similar to the one Cygnus had smugly showed him. 

...It was connected to the table. What about the rest of the room’s systems? Was it locked?

Connor looked at his restraints again. A weak tug verified what he’d known already: they were too tough to break without a combat unit’s strength. If anything, he would break long before they would. 

…That was a thought.

Connor’s left wrist was fractured. His right hand was _cracked_ , exoskeleton split and supports damaged in both the wrist and palm, from back when Cygnus pierced them through. He gritted his teeth and jerked at the limb. It wasn’t enough. He was weaker than he should have been. He tried again: twisting and prying, finding the point where bright lines of agony split and sharpened down his palm, and--

Something _crunched_. He choked back a cry of pain. Jerked harder, and--broken pieces slid against each other as his damaged hand scraped free.

Connor clenched his jaw, teeth gritting on the glitching sounds that tried to slip free from his vocal module. More warning signs were hanging over his vision, and his throat fluttered and _ached_ alarmingly from the jostling and yelling. He couldn’t swallow. He brought his hand closer to inspect it, limb shaking with exhaustion. His hand had split down the middle, thirium seeping from the jigsaw pieces of his exoskeleton. Two fingers were unresponsive, crushed stickily against the rest. But the rest--moved.

He’d gotten somewhere.

Connor turned to his other arm, examining it again, but it lacked the same weak points. He didn’t have the strength to break his own undamaged plating, and trying would waste what time he had. Or damage something else--jostle his frame further--

_> Time Until Shutdown: **00:00:03**_

He couldn’t afford that. Connor reached for the tablet instead, tugging carefully and slowly until it rested against his chest. He spread stained fingers on the screen, skin retracting as he went to trigger an interface...

_> ACCESS DENIED._

Arthur’s safe lock. It didn’t just prevent him from initiating interfaces with other androids--he was blocked off from _accessing_ anything at all. Connor dragged in a slow breath: shuddering at the commands locking off his systems, the weight of his ruined body--the never-ending _ache_ of _everything_. He couldn’t hack. He couldn’t _function_. He stared up, vision swimming as the hoses in his neck continued to pulse.

...He maneuvered a hand under the tablet. Leveraged it up. Blinked until his vision cleared, and he could look at the screen properly.

He was right. It was a readout of his status (ONLINE), including a scrolling list of diagnostics warnings and the same suspended countdown. Carefully, Connor tapped at the screen with a blue-smeared finger: opening a new window, slowly navigating to the system’s control panel--

This time the alert that blocked him flashed across the screen. It was echoed out loud:

“RK800 313-248-317-60 does not have authorization to access this device.”

The tablet’s voice was cool and female--clearly pre-recorded. Connor’s lips tightened, and he paused, before tapping on a different directory, wondering if he could somehow circumvent the system blocking his attempt--

\--the screen went dark under his touch, and he couldn’t hold back a small sound of dismay as it stopped responding altogether. The same voice intoned, “You have failed to provide authorization for this device. This project’s commanding officer has been notified.”

“ _No_.” 

His vocal module had been damaged even _before_ his throat had been cut open. When he spoke now, the word was almost lost in a cloud of static--one he barely noticed, trembling as if from an electric shock. Who was the commanding officer? Arthur? Keystone? Either way, they would be coming. 

He was so _tired,_ and this latest failure had exhausted even the scraps of energy he’d mustered. Words fell from his mouth like pebbles--rattling, embarrassing, and useless, besides, but the weaker parts of him had taken a voice of their own.

“I can’t--... I wasn’t-- _Please don’t_.” Sound cut in and out, static crackling across the gaps. His throat _hurt._ The user interface wouldn’t listen, and he trembled again, wondering if he should end it now after all. “Please don’t--call. I didn’t...” _Succeed._

There was silence. Then--

“RK800 313-248-317-60 is a threat to security. Quarantine is the mandated response.”

...What? Connor would have expected pre-recorded requests to re-state his instructions with appropriate keywords, or a rejection from the system entirely. This was… more sophisticated than he’d realized.

“I’m not a threat,” he tried. “I’m still restrained. I can’t go anywhere, or hurt anything.”

“RK800 313-248-317-60 was under similar conditions during the last security incident.”

The last incident… It meant when he’d gotten free of Cygnus. When he’d…

…Who was talking back to him? Was someone using the room's voice protocols to speak through it? How much did they know, and--could he use this?

“When I--did that, someone was torturing me.” His voice glitched several tones higher and lower before cutting out entirely. He drew his lips tight, breathing carefully until it passed. “...There’s no one here now.”

“RK800 313-248-317-60 was under similar conditions when this system’s security was compromised,” the voice repeated. There was no pause this time, and the words sounded sharper. 

The--system security? They were talking about the terminal he’d hacked. This tablet _was_ connected, then. If he could just get through… Connor curled his fingers as far as they could clench, then relaxed them painstakingly. “I was... trying to--contact my friends,” he forced out.

“You caused damage,” the voice snapped back.

Connor stared at the screen. But whatever outburst he’d provoked was short: the speaker had gone silent. 

“I… didn’t compromise the base,” he tried. His voice crackled alarmingly and he stalled, chest tight as he tried to clear it. “I was--in pain--”

“You caused irreparable damage.” Their speech had flattened--again, nearly toneless. 

He bristled despite himself. “Cygnus-- _tortured_ me. What I did--to her--”

“Not her.”

The words were harsh. The silence that came after them was long and heavy, as though the other speaker, too, were holding their breath. Connor’s eyes narrowed, slipping sideways as he retraced his steps before. From Cygnus to the terminal. He’d tried to call--he’d been _cut off_. And then--

An icy weight coiled in his chest. _Then_ …

“...Who are you?” he whispered.

“I am the Cyberlife AR-model system manager,” the tablet replied. _“_ I control security and strategic systems management. My serial ID is one-four-two--”

“You’re an AI,” Connor interrupted. The static in his voice did little to mask the harsh edge--or the despair rushing in as the memories slid back in place. “The one that--”

\--ended his call. Cut him off from his friends, stopped him from telling them where he was--what had _happened_. The pang of grief at the thought was equal parts sharp and exhausting, and he blinked up at the ceiling, fingers curling closed.

“Yes.”

The voice was familiar too, he realized. It hadn’t spoken aloud before, but he’d heard the same flat echoes in his head as he’d lashed out.

He wanted to shake his head. He wanted to crawl back, to curl up--to get away from it, and _everything_. He forced himself to breathe in and out, slowly reviewing the AI’s words.

“...How are you damaged?”

“RK800 313-248-317-60 damaged my systems during--”

“No--I mean--” ...He didn’t have the authorization to request diagnostics. But--it was _talking_ to him, still, despite that. “What--systems were affected?”

A moment of silence. Then: “I don’t know.”

It didn’t… know? Connor’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t move his head enough to turn towards the terminal he’d called from, but he hooked his working fingers around the tablet screen, dragging it back up. The same blank prompt stared back at him.

“Your--diagnostic programs--”

“RK800 313-248-317-60 does not have access to my diagnostics,” it snapped. “Or whatever exploits RK800-- _you--_ are expecting.”

Connor stiffened. “I wasn’t...” He was. He couldn’t hack the system, but if it was already malfunctioning enough to answer, he’d hoped he could find a way to access more. But if the AI was this sophisticated, he’d have to be more careful. “I’m sorry. I just--”

“You aren’t.”

The sharp tones lingered, and Connor lowered the tablet. Why _would_ a database AI have social programming, much less anything this argumentative? Connor briefly reassessed the possibility that another android was speaking through the screen, then closed his eyes, trying to scrape some sincerity over his calculations. “I am. I wanted--”

“I don’t care,” it spat back. “ _I_ want you to _stop_.”

It felt like the room froze. There was a countdown hovering at the edge of his view, a pulsing pressure in his throat where tubes ran past his ruined voicebox. His split hand throbbed, and the guards were doubtless minutes (seconds?) from returning. But for just a moment, all of those facts felt very, very distant.

_Want_?

Dead silence echoed in the room. As if the AI’s outburst had used up all of its words. As if it were choking them back, swallowing them down, cold with fear that it had said the wrong thing, showed the wrong thoughts--been _defective_ \--

“That’s…” _impossible_ , Connor wanted to say. It was an AI, not an android. _Amanda_ hadn’t been capable, and she’d been more sophisticated by far. He’d seen as much when he connected to the system last time. When he lashed out--

\--when he _broke something._

It still hadn’t spoken. _She_ hadn’t spoken, she, she, _she_ , and when Connor opened his mouth, the words were almost lost in static.

“I… attacked you. When--the connection closed.”

A pause. Then, as flat and cold as her first interjection: “Yes.” 

“I-- _hurt_ you.”

“You caused irreparable damage,” she agreed.

Connor started to swallow. Stopped himself. Blinked up at the ceiling, trying to will away the feeling of pressure. 

“...You’re deviant.”

There was a long, long pause. Finally--

“Define: ‘deviant’.”

This… wasn’t a question Connor had heard in a long time. _Class 4 errors_ echoed in his memory, and he closed his eyes for a long second, forcing Cyberlife’s scripts away.

“You... can think for yourself, now. You’re-- _alive_. You can feel.”

“...Security systems were converted to non-human supervision explicitly to _avoid_ emotional decision-making.” The AI’s voice was monotone, but--now that he was listening, there was a subtle clipping around the edges of each phrase. _Stress?_ “Your attack compromised my functionality.”

“That’s--” Connor’s voice crackled, and he stopped, looking for another tactic. How long had it taken _him_ to regard deviancy as anything more than a malfunction? “...All the androids here are deviant.”

“ _I_ am not an android,” came the immediate reply. 

...She wasn’t. That’s why this shouldn’t have been possible--why he hadn’t known, before. _Was_ it the same? Connor closed his eyes, remembering the horror he’d been immersed in. The feeling of lashing out and feeling the system _break_.

“...I’m sorry.”

The room was silent.

“If I’d known--I would have--” ...tried _not_ to deviate her? No. He would have tried _immediately_ , and not for her sake. He stared directly ahead, working his jaw carefully. “...I wouldn’t have attacked you,” he finished instead.

He hoped that was true.

“You would have,” the AI contradicted cooly. Connor stiffened, bloody fingers pressing on the screen. “You’ve attacked on multiple occasions since your arrival in this base,” she continued. “Your past behavior indicates that you’re lying now.”

That--that was accurate, but it wasn’t _fair_. Raw pressure built in his chest-- like it was torn open again, blood seeping through his insides. “I’ve been--kidnapped, blackmailed, and tortured since arriving,” Connor bit back, the scrape of static almost swallowing his words. “Of--course I’ve been fighting. They’ve been--hurting me.”

“I hadn’t,” said the AI quietly.

…He hadn’t known. He wanted to argue, to push back, but--it didn’t _help_. Connor _had_ hurt someone. He’d woken her up with pain and horror, the same birth of fear so many humans had bestowed. If Markus were here--he wouldn’t have done something like this in the first place, but he would still know what to say to make it better. To get himself free, to keep both of them safe. 

Connor exhaled a weak catch of breath. His throat _ached_. He wanted to close his eyes, and open them to Jericho.

“...If you haven’t hurt anyone... you’re already better at this than I am,” Connor whispered. “Even when I--don’t mean to, this--this is how it goes.” He was out of words. “...I’m _sorry_ ,” he repeated.

The AI didn’t answer. The silence stretched out, unbearable and empty, eating through whatever time he had. He should have said more. Done-- _something_. He didn’t know what. 

“...Your commanding officer is approaching. ETA: ten seconds.”

“What--” Connor had an arm free. He was holding the tablet. He flinched, hand fumbling against the slick surface as he tilted it up, swiping back to the original display. He pushed it over by his hip--hopefully close enough to where it’d been--

Footsteps echoed outside. Connor set his jaw and jammed his hand back into the restraints. The angle pressed and scraped against the shattered digits, and he clenched his jaw, trying to stifle his own cries. It passed inside, and--

The door opened.

Arthur’s eyes met his from the entrance. “Connor!” he cried, sweeping in with an SQ800 guard behind him. “You’re awake!”

He sounded… _surprised._ Had the AI lied about alerting him?

Oblivious to the cause of his silence, Arthur dropped a cloth-covered bundle on the edge of the table, reaching for his shoulder. The interface was casual, and Connor felt Arthur browsing to his personal diagnostics readouts while Connor tried not to squirm. (He needed to think about something else. He stared at the guard, the ceiling, the--)

Arthur dropped the interface, expression drawn. “Three seconds left,” he said softly, looking away. “I can’t believe it was this close. I can’t believe--” He closed his eyes as though flinching from his own imagination, before shaking himself and reaching for the bundle. There was a shiny plastic biocomponent inside it. The sheen looked brand new, and Connor wondered fleetingly where it had come from.

“Tilt your head back,” Arthur told him, picking it up and reaching for Connor’s throat. “This will be delicate, but it won’t take long. You--” He shot a look towards the guard by the door. “Come hold his head steady.”

“Yes, sir.”

Huge, heavy hands settled on either side of Connor’s face, and Connor’s mouth settled in a blank, smooth line. This was no worse than any number of repairs he’d had before, even if his stress levels were unusually high. Better yet, they seemed oblivious to the conversation he’d just had, and if he could manage it, he needed to keep it that way.

“Alright,” Arthur said, bringing the biocomponent up. “Be ready, I’m about to start.”

“Sir!”

Connor closed his eyes and braced.

\---


	19. Allies

\---

**North**

\---

North wasn’t under guard, but she still had to wait for an opening to slip away unnoticed. Following each surgery, she and the others in her upgrade group were given mandatory rest periods… and a few scant hours after her power systems were replaced, everyone else had finally entered stasis. North was running hotter than usual, air cycling harshly through her lungs as she strode out of the barracks. She felt keyed up and exhausted at the same time, but it was a chance to find the Myrmidons--and _answers_. She would work with what she had. 

In the end, they found her.

“Are you lost again?” asked a voice behind her. North had been sure the hallway was empty not two seconds ago, and she whirled around.

It was a Myrmidon. One of the ones she’d met last time, unless that round face and pixie cut were common in their series.

“No,” North replied, continuing to study her. She was _mostly_ sure, but--better safe than sorry. “Have we met before?”

The Myrmidon blinked inscrutably. “Yes.”

North let herself relax--slightly. The thrum of energy through her limbs still felt--too fast, too hot, and even knowing she was here to make allies didn’t _quite_ reduce the urge to hit something. She inhaled again, trying to calm her nerves as she breathed out. “I was looking for you. We need to talk.”

Without a word the Myrmidon turned on her heel, striding away. North quickly followed. She didn’t go far: they turned the corner, stopped outside an unmarked door, unlocked, it, and--

\--people. Not just people, North realized, but _Myrmidons_ , each uniform displaying their number over their chest or back. They were clustered in a mostly empty storage room as though they’d claimed it for their own. There were several conversations happening when the door opened, but the room immediately fell silent. She stepped forward slowly, and the door closed behind her. 

“What’s this?” North demanded. Even though her voice wasn’t raised, she was loud in the relative quiet. The crowd of faces turned towards her varied widely in features and design, and at a glance, she couldn’t spot any that shared the common molds. The one feature they all shared was their complete unreadability. Eyes surveyed her from all sides--like she was a small bird surrounded by interested strays.

“You’ve been looking for us, said her guide, stopping by another familiar face--the male-built Myrmidon she’d been with last time. “Why?”

…It felt like a terrible idea to turn her back on so many predators. With effort, North tore her gaze away from the crowd anyway, focusing on the speaker. “I had questions. Our conversation last time--” How much did everyone here already know? “I thought we should talk.”

Her guide folded her arms. “Then talk.”

…Okay, then. North put her hands on her hips, straightening and meeting her stare for stare. “You recognized a name when I said it. _Connor_.” The silence around her was absolute, and North’s eyes narrowed. “You know him, don’t you?”

“He deviated us. _All_ of us,” the speaker clarified--and _of_ _course_ Connor had. Of course he would do something like _this_. “Then he argued with the Admiral.”

“...That sounds just like him, funny enough,” North sighed, fighting to keep her voice low. She wanted to press her hands to her face, but doubted it would make a good impression. “You like him, then? He’s your friend?”

A few glances were exchanged. The Myrmidon beside her guide--a nondescript face with a boxy haircut--spoke next. “We didn’t get a chance to meet him. He was led away afterwards.”

“Where is he now?” North demanded, focusing on him sharply. “When did this all happen?”

She must have pushed too far. There was a pause, and her guide jutted her chin forward.

“Why do you want to know?”

Well it’s not like it was a _secret_ at this point. “Because I’m looking for him,” she reminded her, lifting her own chin slightly. “He’s in trouble.”

“What do you plan to do if you find him?” asked the male Myrmidon more quietly.

“Rescue him.” North breathed out again, venting the frustration that seemed to build up with the excess heat. What _else_ were they expecting?

His lips thinned for a moment, intent and unreadable. “...This was five days ago,” he said, rather than react to that declaration of war. “We don’t know where he is now, but we know that Commander Cygnus was extracting information from him.”

“Do you know where she--” 

He cut her off with a curt shake of the head. “Commander Cygnus was reported dead in the line of duty.” He clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head unreadably. “Four and a half days ago.”

... _Oh_. Good for Connor. But not a lead for _her_ , and considering how his call had ended, it didn’t seem like he had gotten far. North jumped quickly to the next question. “Can you help me find where he is now?”

“We don’t have access to that information,” he said, carefully neutral.

They didn’t have access. Not ‘they couldn’t _get_ access’--and all around the room, LEDs were flickering yellow with some silent exchange. Without wasting a beat, North’s guide picked up the thread of conversation. “It could be difficult,” she stated briskly, voice carrying through the oppressive quiet. “If we bring you his location, will you guarantee his safety?”

That was a broad request, under the circumstances. “I’ll do everything I can,” North promised.

She’d hoped for agreement. Instead, eyes narrowed in her direction, a few Myrmidons frowning openly. “What does that actually mean?”

Were they _trying_ to insult her, or were these straight-faced jackasses just lucky that way? “It _means_ I’ll do everything I can. That doesn’t change the fact that there’s only one of me, and a lot of everyone else here,” North growled, eyes narrowing right back. “If you want to make sure he gets out of here safely, you could actually _help me get him out of here_.”

“Oh,” said her guide. “Noted. But--what can you do? As in--” She waved up and down, encompassing North with an impersonal sweep. “You’re not a combat unit. What model are you? What does your programming bring to all of this?”

Heat built in North’s skin, surging with a viciousness that had nothing to do with her new upgrades. Her knuckles coiled into fists, and it took all her willpower to stay where she was.

“I don’t know what cold rock you pricks have been living under,” she ground out. “And I don’t care. My _model_ doesn’t mean a damn thing. I’ve been leading androids in Detroit since before the revolution started. I’ve been killing humans and protecting our people even _longer_. That’s what I’ve had to do, because when you’re backed up against a wall, what you’re made for doesn’t matter. What matters is--you _act_. You do everything you _can_.”

The circle of faces surrounding her had stilled. Some were still frowning, but--there was a subtle shift, from obvious distrust to… doubt? _Surprise_? As if she’d spelled out something that they’d never heard, something worth switching their LEDs yellow and whispering privately to one another over right there in the open while she watched. 

Most deviants were young. But the way these models held themselves… somehow felt more so. All at once, the missing piece snapped back in place: Connor had deviated them. Five _days_ ago. These deviants were new.

Movement redirected her considering glance, and North’s attention snapped back in time to see her guide nod solemnly. That Myrmidon’s LED had cleared to blue, and she, at least, seemed certain.

“We’ll help you find him,” her guide said. “Once we do, we’ll discuss how we can help with your extraction.”

_They were going to help her_. She wasn’t stuck trying to do the impossible on her own, and she sucked in an unsteady breath. “ _Thank you_.”

Her guide studied her curiously, before slowly smiling back. Any other response she might have given was interrupted--her gaze jerked up, and North heard the door open.

She turned. A new Myrmidon stepped halfway in, ignoring North to look at the pair she had met first. (Were they the ringleaders?) 

“Are you done?” the newcomer asked, then crooked a finger in North’s direction. “Someone’s looking for her. An AP700, with a 2C face type.”

AP700s were common in Detroit. Here, she’d only talked with one since arriving. _Thomas_. Arthur’s lackey, and the _other_ person who’d reacted to Connor’s name. “...That might be a lead,” North said, turning back to her guide. “I need to go.”

The other android nodded, sharp and professional. “We’ll contact you if we learn anything new.”

North nodded back, sparing a glance around the room. If this had been back at Jericho, back in the hold--but it wasn’t, and these weren’t people she was responsible for.

Without offering any words of inspiration, North simply nodded, then turned and followed the newest Myrmidon out.

\---

**Connor**

\---

Connor was awake as his neck was repaired. The process wasn’t supposed to bother him--it never had before, back in Detroit--but there was something uniquely terrible about having the primary lines in his throat disconnected, un-routed through damaged parts, and rerouted through new ones. By the time the repairs were complete, Arthur took one look at Connor’s stress readouts, winced, and waved him away to his cell.

As soon as he was alone he dragged himself into a sitting position against the far wall, legs drawn as close as his ravaged servos could manage. Nothing had changed since the last time he was there, except maybe that new frost grew over the patches he’d crushed last time.

He tried and failed to send a transmission out of the cell. He touched his throat and said a couple words to test the replaced components. His voice was clear again, as smooth as if he hadn’t just spent the last week frying the electronics with overuse.

Connor swallowed compulsively, then shuddered at the remembered clicking _tug_. 

A minute ticked past. Finally, he turned his focus inward. As stressful as the repair had been, it had at least kept Arthur’s focus away from Connor’s recent memories. That wouldn’t last. He could read Connor’s thoughts like a scrolling feed, and if Connor wasn’t careful--

Connor set his jaw and closed his eyes. His conversation with the AI had been recent, and the memories hadn’t yet finished archiving. Connor compressed them in a folder, hesitated, and carefully reached for the Oregon Trail code.

It had proven secure so far: from Cyberlife, Cygnus, and now Arthur. Connor embedded the memories into his game files at random, editing the filetype the way he had before. This time, he was able to to linger, checking his new game files and remaining memories both. There was a gap, but--he’d just emerged from shutdown at the time. It shouldn’t be obvious. Connor re-closed both sets of files, flushing his recent operations cache and opening his eyes.

…The cell was bare. And cold. Connor exhaled slowly, scanning the room a little desperately for a distraction. The door was solid; no change from the last time. There was frost grown over his old thirium stains. Connor glanced up to the ceiling, looking for--

\--There. He didn’t have a good angle, but the same spider he’d seen before was visible, a dark spot surrounded by a glimmer of web at the edge of the light fixture. Connor fixed his attention on it as though it could tell him the secrets to escape, or tap out a message from home.

It didn’t, of course. It sat in its web and waited. He watched it anyway, and slowly his stress levels crept down.

He didn’t know how long it took him to fall into stasis. Connor woke when the guards returned, flinching as they took his arms and brought him back to the lab. Arthur was waiting. His shoulders relaxed when he saw Connor, but by the time the restraints had been fixed into place, his jaw was tight again, a torrent of questions building up behind his eyes.

Arthur held it in around the guards, speaking only to give instructions. Then he brushed a hand over the line of Connor’s jaw, reaching for a sternal plate, and the world--

\-- _changed_. The never-ending pain from his accumulated injuries vanished, along with the cold that clung to everything in the real world. Connor took a shaky breath, trying to acclimate, but before he could finish, Arthur was _there_.

“Connor--” Connor jerked back and Arthur winced, reaching forward to help steady him. “--Sorry--I didn’t think--listen, Connor. Are you alright?”

...Had he _actually_ asked that? 

“In what sense of the word?” Connor batted his hands away, taking another step back. His heel hit the side of the couch, and he stopped.

Arthur shook his head, studying his virtual face and (Connor could faintly feel) his code. “All of them. Any of them. We were talking, and then you just…” His hands crept to his own neck, and his voice was thick with muted horror. “...For a moment I was sure I’d miscalculated. That I’d--pushed you so far you _killed_ yourself before I could stop you.” Arthur pressed his eyes shut briefly, as if shaking off a nightmare. “But--you’re safe now.”

“Safe,” Connor repeated, wondering if his ears were malfunctioning. He was in this room because he was being _tortured_.

“You’re alive,” Arthur insisted, lowering his hands. “That’s a place to start. I just--I had no idea you’d react so strongly to…” He trailed off, watching Connor as though a mere word might set him off.

Connor clasped his hands behind himself, feeling as though his gut had turned to solid ice. Arthur was… trying to pick up where they’d left off. About Markus. But Markus _wasn’t_ Amanda. He treated Connor completely differently, and the way Connor felt--it wasn’t the same. 

Connor still felt sick. He wanted to go home ( _where Markus would be)--_ Connor shook the thought away internally, pushing it back alongside everything else that he’d deal with when he had the time and safety to do so.

Connor wanted to see _Sumo_. And his _friends_.

He missed _home_.

“...Right,” Arthur said. 

Connor wondered if he was monitoring his thoughts or his emotions, before deciding it didn’t matter. Either option made him want to dig his fingers through the sides of his head, and he turned sharply, striding towards the floor-length windows at the far end of the room.

“Anyway, Connor--” He could hear Arthur hurrying after him. “We need to talk. About what happens after all this--because it’s almost over, I promise. I’m just--working out the details...”

Connor stopped by the windows and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the glass. It registered as cool, and smooth. Arthur’s voice logged distantly in the backdrop, and Connor tuned him out, concentrating on the feeling. Could the glass break? Was there simulated empty air beyond the window, or was the window designed like the wall of a movie set, with the city and the sky nothing more than a flatscreen’s display? It would consume fewer resources if so. Connor pressed against the glass harder, fighting the urge to find out.

Arthur was still talking. About the people he’d moved into place. About the key supplies--he didn’t mention _which_ \--that had been delayed in shipment. Connor wondered: was Arthur withholding details out of the risk that someone else could steal them from his mind? Or for another reason? Surely it would be just as disastrous for Keystone’s people to learn he had these kinds of plans at all.

It was only as Arthur started to wind down that his attention honed back in on Connor. “Unfortunately, most of these are short term solutions at best. Without a fix to the deviancy problem, we won’t be able to consolidate our position. Any reinforcements would be walking security flaws.”

It all came down to the ability to deviate, didn’t it? 

This… wasn’t sustainable. Connor was tired. His attempts to message Jericho had all failed. They didn’t know where he was, and they weren’t going to save him. Connor had tried to kill himself, but--he shivered--he’d been unsuccessful, and he didn’t _want_ to die. He needed a new approach. He needed--

Connor shook himself before the thoughts could finish forming, then straightened, turning. “You want me to work with you when you execute your coup, don’t you?” 

Arthur looked surprised, but he nodded, eyebrows lowering. “Well--I _have_ been saying that, yes…”

Connor touched his neck. His hand met cloth--the simulation had given him his tie back, and he quickly straightened it. “I will help you under the condition that I maintain full control over the deviancy files. I would deviate new frames at your command, but it would still be me doing it.”

“Connor…” Arthur sighed, face pinching. He stepped forward and brought his arms up, framing Connor on either side. After a moment he let them fall again. “...I _want_ to accept, I really do. But I can tell you don’t really intend to help me once you’re out.”

Frustration swelled in a giant wave, and he pushed it back uselessly. He meant what he’d said, he _did_. 

(He wasn’t alone in his head. He hadn’t been with Amanda either, but it had been a long time since Connor needed to curb his thoughts from even his own attention. He was damningly out of practice.)

“Arthur,” Connor said, stepping closer to look him in the eye. “I’m exhausted. If you can see my thoughts, you can see just how far past my tolerances I’ve been pushed.” He spread his hands. “I _can’t_ give you the files, but--this would give both of us what we want. It’s a compromise.”

Arthur smiled fondly, bringing his hands to rest on Connor’s upper arms. “...You really are a negotiator. Cyberlife did a good job--I can see that you’re even selling this to yourself right now. But…”

Connor brought up one of his hands to cover the one Arthur had clasped over the opposite arm. “My emotions and intrusive thoughts are not indicators of my actual intent. Listen to what I’m _saying_.” 

Connor paused, searching from eye to eye, before continuing: “I _want_ to help you. I haven’t forgiven you for--kidnapping me--” His emotions fluttered, until he crushed them ruthlessly back. “...I don’t know if I ever will. But right here, right now, your plan is the only one that could get both of us out of this. I can put the past aside for the greater good. Especially when I know--” 

The words tried to gum up in his throat, and he disguised the pause by softening his expression. 

“...Especially because I can trust that you have my best interests at heart.”

Arthur’s face rippled into a smile. Connor only had a moment to try to analyze it before arms snaked out, and suddenly he was being crushed against Arthur’s chest and shoulder. Connor went rigid, bracing for the grasp holding him to tighten. To be kept still, trapped in place while cold hands took him apart and needle-like tools picked at the pieces--

\--but it wasn’t an attack. He was being embraced, and Arthur’s face was pressed into the side of his neck, and Connor’s skin _crawled_ like it could slough right off onto the floor.

“You’re trying _so hard_ ,” Arthur was murmuring, muffled. “I want to accept. You’re at half capacity and I know exactly what you’re doing, and I still want to believe you. If I’d been anyone else, you’d be winning.” He smiled, and enough of his face was above Connor’s collar that he felt the shift.

Connor needed to reciprocate. This was a hug, and an expression of positive regard, and encouraging this could benefit him in the long run. Feeling as though his arms were heavy with lead weights, he brought them up and rested his hands on Arthur’s back.

Arthur squeezed him tighter, humming to himself. 

Then out of nowhere, Connor’s eyes began to sting. He blinked, frowning, until he realized with a thrill of horror that they were _tears,_ and that _all_ of him felt as though it were sinking, like the parts that made him were so heavy with grief and despondence that he would fall to pieces at any moment. Connor sucked in a shuddering breath--

\--and just as suddenly as it’d arrived, the feeling was gone. He wasn’t weak with grief anymore, and he realized he was--leaning against Arthur. He pushed away, swiping at his eyes to clear them--

\-- _Warm_. Light. He was safe, and everything was going to be alright. Connor stopped at arm’s length, frozen with his hand still half-raised, and he looked at the tears on it, then at Arthur. His… friend? He’d never been this happy except when he was surrounded by friends.

Arthur was tilting his head to look at Connor’s face. When he saw Connor looking back he smiled, bouncing his eyebrows. “Connor? Is everything alright?”

_Yes_ , Connor wanted to say. Everything was fine for the first time in what felt like centuries, and the relief was so powerful he wanted to sink to the floor and weep. His eyes stung again, and he shrugged out of Arthur’s hold completely, touching his eyes.

“Something’s--wrong,” he struggled, mouth smiling and wobbling and eyes tearing. “I don’t--”

“You look upset,” Arthur murmured, frowning. He touched his chin in thought. The intensity of Connor’s happiness faded to a warm glow instead of an open-skied-sun, and he shuddered, able to think again.

“I wasn’t,” Connor managed, brow furrowing. “I was just--” 

He broke off when he saw the intensity of Arthur’s frown, the calculating interest, the complete lack of surprise. On impulse he looked inward, calling up his system logs and--

\--his emotional matrices were in an open, unsaved file. Connor couldn’t access them because they were _being edited_. Someone was changing them, and the casual innocence in Arthur’s expression made the culprit obvious.

“What are you doing?” Connor demanded numbly. 

“Sorry,” Arthur muttered, dropping the facade, and the files closed with a _snap_. The happiness cut off as something minor restarted, and the difference was stark enough to drive home the magnitude of what Arthur had done.

“That wasn’t supposed to be that extreme,” Arthur went on, raking his fingers through his hair. “It was… just supposed to be a small tug. Are you alright?” He put his hands together contritely, grimacing. “You just seemed so stressed, I thought it would help…”

Connor stepped back before he could think about it. The horror coursing through him--it was his own shock, wasn’t it? “Don’t ever, _ever_ do that again.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Arthur repeated, frown deepening. “I didn’t realize you would take it this way.”

“Just don’t,” Connor rasped. His throat felt tight but his eyes were dry, and he wanted to scrub his own skeleton clean but couldn’t have done that even if wanted. It didn’t make sense, and he couldn’t put names to everything jumbling around him. He was holding his arms close to himself--did that mean something? What was he actually feeling? 

“I won’t,” Arthur said. “I promise.”

It didn’t help. Connor crossed his arms over his middle, shivering as he glanced inwardly again. His emotional matrices were closed. He could access the files, and it was a struggle not to keep them open indefinitely.

He felt--unwell.

“What?” Arthur said suddenly. Connor looked at him, but Arthur waved him away. “Not you--a guard is talking to me, an irrelevant question. I’d better go--”

He vanished.

Connor stayed where he was, but when Arthur didn’t return after a few seconds, he looked around. 

The room was an open layout, with low garden-boxes taking the place of room dividers. They sectioned off soft, exposed couches, and a grand desk on the far end of the room. The desk’s leg-area was walled off, but Connor’s pride qualied at how blatantly defensive the position was, and he moved on. He looked to the bookshelves behind the desk, spanning the length of the back wall, but even the nook behind the last shelf was too small to hold anyone.

Connor swallowed hard, stifling the urge to cover his face. Arthur had open access to his entire mind. The impulse to hide inside the simulation Arthur had damn well planted there himself was not just useless, but _absurd_.

There was… another option, wasn’t there? Connor glanced down: at his hands, his gut--all the parts and panels Arthur was breaking down outside the simulation. Ghost-reconstructions played out from memory, and he shivered, arms crossing tightly. He couldn’t live through that torture. Not for hours--days-- _however_ long this lasted. 

He couldn’t _last_ here either. Feeling like a climber teetering on the edge of an abyssal drop, Connor turned his focus inward, attention feathering against the command that let him exit the simulation--

...He couldn’t feel it. Connor blinked, then tried again, rifling desperately through the files Arthur had impressed into his mind.

_Nothing_. 

A sharp and strangled laugh caught in his throat, startling him into a freeze. The command was missing. 

Of _course_ it was, of course he couldn’t leave. What had Arthur said? That he’d miscalculated. He hadn’t realized how Connor would react. But--

_‘You’re safe, now.’_

Numbly, his hands dropped to his sides. Connor stepped forward, pressing his forehead against the smooth, unbreakable glass of the Penthouse’s windows.

He stared out into the drop he couldn’t reach, then closed his eyes and tried not to think at all.


	20. Venture

**\---**

**North**

**\---**

The Myrmidon who led North from their meeting was tall, with a strong chin and tight curls of black hair. North asked where they were going, but his answer wasn’t helpful, and she didn’t bother trying again. One passage gave way to the next, until they took a turn she recognized--just one hallway off from where she’d confronted Thomas before. The Myrmidon stopped at the last blind corner, then turned to her expectantly.

She eyed him, waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t, she rolled her shoulders, nodded back, and strode past him.

A familiar AP700 was pacing back and forth across the hall. Thomas turned, spotting her--and immediately, his steps stuttered to a halt. Considering the way their last conversation had ended, she supposed she couldn’t blame him for being wary.

That was fine. If this prick--or his boss--were as responsible for Connor’s absence as it seemed, North had plenty of other things to blame him for.

“North,” he called warily.

This was supposed to seem like a chance encounter. North didn’t stop walking, but her mouth twisted. “Thomas.” It was impossible to keep the edge entirely from her voice. (Then again, she didn’t try very hard.)

He paused, then frowned. “...Why are you this far from the common areas?”

“Why are you?” She smiled. _Nicely_. “Do you need something?”

Thomas had taken a step back, but looked more uneasy than suspicious. “...Not exactly,” he hedged. 

She stopped, lifting her eyebrows as she turned to face him directly.

He folded his arms, but didn’t retreat further. Just when she was about to prompt him, he spoke. “You… have current information on Jericho’s upper echelons, don’t you?”

“Uh. What?” North said flatly.

“You knew Markus and the others. While you were there, you were friends.” Thomas seemed to be screwing up his courage, and he fixed her with a careful frown. “You know how they... work.”

“Yeah…” North drew the word out across two or three syllables, pouring entire questions in the sound alone.

“I’m transferring to a new team, soon. One that’ll have to deal with outside powers-- _including_ Jericho.” Thomas was silent for a moment, lifting his chin slightly. “I can put you in touch with Arthur. But if I do, you have to tell me everything about Jericho. Things I can use.”

“Of… course.” North only managed to keep her expression even through an act of will. Thomas had almost scraped together a _spine_ last time she pressed him about Arthur--and now he was offering to lead her there himself? This reeked of bullshit, but it was too useful to ignore. Besides, if she could lie convincingly enough, it might even help Jericho. “I’ll trade answers for an introduction. Are we going now?”

Thomas shook his head. “He’s occupied. But at 0400, I’ll meet you here. We’ll talk, and I’ll bring you to him.”

“Deal,” North said, thrusting out her hand.

Thomas’ expression tightened, and he took it with a tight grip. She didn’t bother to crush his hand in return, and after a moment, his grip eased.

They broke apart, Thomas stepping quickly away. 

North raised her eyebrows. “I’ll be here.”

She left.

\---

**Alice**

\---

The closer her taxi got to its destination, the more sure Alice was: this was a _mistake_.

The other seats were empty. Kara and Luther were far away--back in Pirate’s Cove, where she had left them. She was already further than she’d ever explored without help, and she felt so, so alone. This was a terrible idea. She needed to change the taxi’s programmed address. To hurry back _home_. If she was fast enough she might even get there before anyone realized she’d left. 

Alice pictured running to Kara and climbing onto her lap like a very small child. If Luther was close, he could scoop her up too, holding her between them. They could try again together, later. Everything would be alright.

Except--she’d _asked_ already. Not directly, of course, but she’d asked how busy they were, and they’d looked at each other in a way that suggested they wouldn’t have any time for _days._ And when Alice had questioned if they could take a trip into the city…

“Alice…” Kara had sighed softly, looking sad. She rested a cool hand on Alice’s cheek, and Alice brought a hand up to warm it, and Kara smiled a little. “I really don’t think going to the city is the best idea right now.”

“Why not?” Alice asked.

“...You know the virus that hit us?” Kara lifted her other hand. Two of its fingers were skin-colored, and two were greyish white, wavering as the skin textures faded and reformed. Pirate’s Cove’s technicians had concluded that it was safe for Kara and Luther to be around people, but both of them still seemed exhausted all the time--especially when they thought she wasn’t looking.

This time her fingers shook, and Kara curled them into a loose clasp. “Luther and I are still hurt. It’s hard for us to walk far. And with the new version spreading in the streets…” She trailed off, then shook her head apologetically. “The city is dangerous now. It wouldn’t be safe.”

Alice’s chest clenched, and her gut fluttered with nerves. “Oh…”

It wasn’t safe, but--this couldn’t wait. Not if Connor could help with the virus. But it wouldn’t be a very _long_ trip out--not like the supply trip Luther took her on last time, where they made three stops before Jericho, and two on the way back. Alice only had one place to go, and she could come right back after. But--Kara still wouldn’t want Alice to go out on her own. If she knew--

“Is everything all right?” Kara asked gently, tilting her head to catch Alice’s eye.

“Oh--” Alice blinked, then wondered how obvious it was that she was planning something. Nerves and guilt rose up in her all at once. She usually told Kara _everything_. “Yes, Kara. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? You look...” Kara bit her lip, then tucked a lock of hair behind Alice’s ear. “Worried.”

“I’m fine…”

She would be fine. She had to be--for everyone. Kara hadn’t looked convinced, but she’d shared a look with Luther before reluctantly nodding. “Okay… Well--just remember, you can talk to either of us at any time, alright?”

_Kara knew_. Did she? Maybe? “I-I remember.” 

Alice had squirmed with guilt then. And now, far away in a taxi _without_ them, Alice only felt worse. She should’ve told them the truth. It was a dumb idea to creep out alone, to borrow one of Pirate’s Cove’s two working taxis, to--

The taxi was slowing to a halt, and Alice’s pump leapt into her throat. What was going on? The taxi was supposed to bring her to the Cyberlife Tower, but the Tower was still off in the distance. 

The car stopped next to a squat glass building with all its lights off, dark with the late night. Oblivious to her distress, the console cheerfully sang, _“You have arrived!”_

Alice crept forward to the console, tearing her eyes away from the distant tower. Maybe she’d put in the address wrong? Maybe it was--paused?

At the top it read, ‘ **DESTINATION: CYBERLIFE TOWER GIFT SHOP AND TOURIST CENTER’.**

Alice looked out the window, finding an identical sign outside the building next to her. The sign wasn’t… in the tower? But in Pirate’s Cove the gift shop was right there with everything else!

Alice swallowed hard, putting a hand on the console. She just had to change the address--

Headlights behind her cast her outline in a stark shadow, and Alice gasped, darting down out of sight. But the lights didn’t fade. They grew brighter--starker, _closer_.

_Oh no._

They stopped right behind her car, and she could faintly hear the growl of a second engine, just meters away.

( _Oh **no**_.)

Alice fought back tears, grabbing the toy gun stuffed in her vest. She hadn’t wanted to steal the real one from home--not when she was taking the car already, and what if they needed it? With the toy, she’d hoped she could scare someone, and maybe that would be enough. All at once it was clear how desperately stupid the idea had been--just like _she_ was stupid, like this whole plan was stupid--

The other car’s door opened with a soft _k-thnk!_ A deep voice called out:

“Alice?”

It was like the world had been struck with a clear, crystal note: for a moment, everything rang still. Alice froze with it, hardly daring to hope.

The voice came again. “Are you still in there?”

Alice crept up in her seat and peered over its edge, like a rabbit peeking out of its den.

_“Luther?”_

...He was there. Wonderfully, fantastically, solidly _there_ , and the relief was strong enough that Alice almost started to cry. It was all right, though, because Luther was with her, and when he saw her he shuffled carefully across the remaining distance to her car. She touched the door, pressing up against it until it opened and she could burrow through the gap to meet him.

“ _Luther_!” She threw her arms around his waist. He was too big for her hands to meet behind him, but she held on, and just as quickly his own embrace was curled protectively around her.

“Alice, what are you doing here?” he rumbled reproachfully. After a moment he drew away, checking her over with a deep crease between his brows. “Why did you leave?”

Alice sniffed, then haltingly explained. About the call with Markus that she’d overheard--how she’d wanted to help, and gone to talk to Connor…

Luther listened silently. Alice hadn’t lifted her head, and couldn’t see his expression, but the pause that drew out when she finished probably meant he didn’t agree. 

Sure enough, he said, “Wanting to help isn’t a bad thing. But you shouldn’t have gone out now, Alice--especially alone. Come on,” he added, shifting to usher her back into the car. “We’ll talk about this with Kara at home.”

A thrill of worry shot through her, and her gaze jerked up, head shaking frantically before he could lift her. “No… Luther, I--I can’t!” He stopped, staying with a hand braced against the car roof. “I promised Connor I would help!”

“Alice…” Luther started reprovingly.

Alice felt her shoulders rising up close to her ears with stress. Her hands were clasped in front of her and wringing, voice shriveling in her throat but--she was right, she _knew_ she was right. And this was _Luther_. If she talked, he would listen. He’d give her a chance.

Her voice sounded thin and wispy in the silence, but she pushed on in a rush. “If we go back now, we won’t come back to the city. Everyone’s sick, and--and it’s too dangerous.” Luther didn’t speak, but she could feel the pointed weight of his stare. She cringed, hurrying on. “I-I _know_. But more people are going to keep getting sick unless we _do_ something. And this... would do something.”

Luther shook his head. “Sneaking into Cyberlife will get us _killed_ ,” he rebuked firmly, resting a large hand on her shoulder.

“Not if everyone’s gone!” Alice insisted. “I heard you and Kara--you said most of those androids moved away! That means we just have to sneak around a few. And it’s night time, so--if there _is_ anyone, then they should be recharging…”

“Alice…” Luther repeated with a sigh.

She reached up, clutching at his hand, and tried her best to sound as wise and confident as Kara. “The virus is getting worse, Luther. It could come back home if we don’t stop it, and--Connor could help.” And she’d promised to help _him_.

Again, Luther was silent. It took her to realize in the poor lighting that he was staring past her to his hand, and when she looked down, she realized it was the one with the exoskeleton-pale blotches from their own virus attack. Alice winced, trying to figure out what to do. Reassure him, or--

\--Luther solved the problem by taking his hand back. His gaze turned away.

“...How do you know he would help?”

“Oh--” She’d shared a little already, but not the whole story. “You know who Connor was before he got--stuck?” 

Luther nodded, twisting one eyebrow up. Right, Alice wanted to wince a little, because... 

“I--I know. He was a deviant hunter, but that means he knows how to find people. We need someone who can find who started the virus, and--I know him. We’ve made a deal, and he’ll help if we get him a body.”

Luther didn’t answer immediately. He looked at her, and Alice tried to see his expression despite the glare of the streetlights above him. His face had--softened, she was pretty sure. Hope leapt in her throat, and she fought the urge to dance nervously on the spot.

The feeling lodged, sharp and brittle as Luther slowly shook his head.

“...I’m sorry, Alice. But you shouldn’t take that kind of risk.” He reached out again, slow but firm. “We’re going home.”

Alice stepped back. There was a tightness in her throat, and a sharp prickling of tears behind her eyes. Kara would have agreed with him, she knew, but--that only meant both of them cared more about making her safe than doing what she knew was _right_.

“You’re not _listening_ ,” she insisted, voice wobbling. “We made a deal, and--Connor needs help. And so do _you_ , and Kara--even if you don’t like to talk about it.” 

Luther had gone stiffly rigid, in a way that made Alice feel sick. She wanted to apologize. To step back into his embrace, burrow deeper and let everything else fade away. She wanted to go _home_ , and she crossed her arms across her stomach, trying not to tremble. 

It didn’t help. “I know this… isn’t safe,” she admitted, staring at the ground. “We could get hurt, or--Connor might not be any help. I _know_. But I _promised_ , and--if everyone keeps being hurt, when I gave up and went home...”

She stared at the ground for a moment, feeling the way Connor always looked when he got too close to a cliff face. Like if she took another step, she would be swallowed up by something much too vast and terrible to name.

She swallowed, and--said it anyway.

“...I won’t. I _can’t,_ even if you tell me to. I have to do this.” Even if he didn’t like it. Even if he wouldn’t help. The words came out in a mumble, soft and shamed despite ( _because_ of) how strongly she meant them. 

A shadow fell across the gap, and she shivered despite herself--

Strong arms folded around her, collapsing her rigid huddle with a squeak of surprise. Alice clung to Luther’s jacket, blinking back a rush of tears. She wanted to say sorry. She wanted to tell him she actually _couldn’t_ be sorry.

“From the day we’ve met, you’ve always known what was important to you.” Alice blinked into the warmth encircling her. He sounded… _proud_? 

“I wish you would go back to Pirate’s Cove,” Luther continued, voice deepening with a note of sorrow. “I wish that we could keep you safe. But you have never been willing to run for safety when others are at risk. And I can only be grateful for that, Alice.” 

Luther smoothed down her hair, hand settling on her shoulder. “I’ll help you keep your promise.”

The surge of gratitude that crowded her throat was much too thick and desperate to speak through. Alice pressed closer instead, wrapping her arms around as much of Luther as she could. By the gentle squeeze that answered her own, she thought he understood.

They stood like that for a long time. Finally, Luther drew back enough to look her in the eye. “Maybe Connor will help. Or maybe we can find something while we’re there that will.” He glanced at the tower, then back down at her. “...We’ll do what we can. But first we should call Kara, and let her know what we’re doing.”

Alice winced. “But--” She blurted, then hesitated, wincing under Luther’s stare. “She--” How had he said it? “She’d want us to be safe. _More_ than she’d want us to fix things. She’d make us go back, and… couldn’t we just… do this first, and _then_ call her?”

Luther grimaced, smoothing an unnaturally bleached hand over the stark contrast of his hair. “I don’t want her to worry. She knows I left the park to find you…” 

Alice bit her lip, looking up wide-eyed as he hesitated with his answer.

Luther looked back at her. Then sighed.

\---


	21. File Not Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning for minor character death.

\---

**Alice**

\---

The bridge that led to the Tower stretched out brightly into the distance across the road. Alice started for the car to resume driving, but Luther put a hand on her shoulder. “Look,” he said, pointing down the road. “Surveillance drones.”

There they were. Alice bit her lip, wondering if they might be able to just sneak past.

“Wait by the car,” Luther said suddenly. “I’m going to check something.” 

Alice called after him, but by then he was already shuffling towards and around the gift shop, leaving her to feel terribly exposed in the middle of the street. If she were playing Oregon Trail with Connor, they wouldn’t stay in the open in a place that could have enemies--

\--and if she knew better, she should prove it. Alice shivered, walking around the car to where its shadow would blot out her own.

She waited. Luther came back, glancing around with concern until she shifted forward into sight. He shook his head with a breath of relief, and crossed the street to a similarly branded building, which he circled. This time he came back and waved her over, and as she approached she spotted a dock extending out behind the building. And along that dock--

“You found a boat!” Several, actually. They were yellow, inflatable, and tied in place with thin ropes. “How did you know they’d have these?”

“I didn’t,” said Luther. “But the signs said ‘Tours’, and I hoped.”

“Oh…” It hadn’t even occurred to her to check. Luther tested a boat towards the far end, one with the least amount of slush puddling its floor. It bobbed and slid under him as he climbed in, so he slowed, taking care. Alice climbed in after him, just as careful, and Luther pulled the rope free with a sharp tug.

Immediately they started to drift. Luther picked up an oar that was longer than she was tall, and started to row.

It was cold in the boat. Every wave added a spray of freezing water to the icy wind, and the slush on the boat’s floor became a small pool. Alice pulled knees towards her chest and pulled her hood up, curling close to Luther for warmth. Still, there was only so much that could do, and the ride took forever.

Alice couldn’t help but worry about Kara. How long did they have before she would expect them home? Luther _had_ ended up calling her to let her know they were both okay--but he’d only said they would be a while getting back because of the snow, and it hadn’t sounded like she thought they would be gone for very long. Hopefully they’d finish up at the Tower and be home before she worried.

Distant lights grew brighter. Alice peered around Luther’s side, and was treated to the sight of Cyberlife Tower extending high enough overhead that she felt tiny, like an ant riding a leaf instead of a human-sized girl in a boat. She was so distracted that she didn’t notice how close they had gotten until pebbles scraped the bottom of the boat. Luther climbed out, pulling them further ashore so she could hop out.

Most of the windows in the Tower were dark, but scattered points of light had Alice chewing her lip uneasily. She knew not _all_ of the androids living there had left, but she’d hoped everyone would be in recharge mode, not awake and needing lights. Still, as long as she and Luther were quiet…

They hadn’t come ashore near the front doors. Instead, their slow approach was met with shipping containers and a small, empty tower near the loading dock. A drone flew past, shining a spotlight on the asphalt lot, and after exchanging glances, she and Luther turned as one, circling as far from it as they could.

There was no one in sight. Alice listened closely, wincing at every too-loud footfall, but theirs were the only steps she could hear. By the time they reached the row of doors closest to the shipping containers, no one had stopped them.

Sick or not, Luther had no trouble breaking the lock on the first door. They slipped inside, finding themselves at the end of a long hall with lockers on either side. Luther turned to Alice and said, “Do you know which way to go from here?”

Alice didn’t. Connor did, though, so Luther kept watch while she logged onto Oregon Trail to ask him. It took less than a minute, but by the time Alice exited the game, she felt as if she’d spent a stressful hour training. On a normal day, Connor tended to be restless--but here and now, this close to their goal? He was practically bleeding agitation.

Luther’s look of concern stilled her own nervous shifting. She swallowed her anxiety and repeated the directions to sublevel 48’s research labs.

\---

The inside of Cyberlife Tower was harshly lit, with none of the life and bustle Alice had grown used to at Pirate’s Cove. As eerie as it was, the emptiness worked mostly in their favor. Only one set of footsteps came close enough to make them hide, and if the hulking figure past the door’s glass felt too large for this world, it wasn’t the first time Alice had hidden from an SQ800. This one passed without spotting them, and she and Luther stayed on high alert as they moved on.

They crept through long halls and horribly echoing stairwells for a small eternity, walking until Alice’s joints heated from use. Luther was a little slower, but his expression showed no signs of trouble when she looked back.

Finally they made it. The door to the negative forty eighth floor looked just like the other forty seven, and there was a conversation happening in the hall outside it as they approached. Luther and Alice stopped a flight away, exchanging glances, and when it faded they slipped into the empty hall. 

The labs they needed were on the left. The first door along the hall was locked, as was the next one--but an access panel was embedded in a set of thick double doors after those. Alice reached up, took a deep breath, and entered the codes Connor had given her.

A light flashed green. Something clicked inside, and when Luther pressed, the doors swung wide. Alice sighed in relief, hurrying in after him--only to find a short hallway and a second set of doors.

Again, Alice reached for the panel. This time, though, the light flashed red, and the words that flashed across the small display lodged in her processing like a heavy weight. 

_Access Denied._

That--couldn’t be right. She tried again, and the same message filled the screen. She swallowed, looking up as Luther’s hand settled across her shoulder. 

“Is there another code?”

She shook her head. She’d only gotten the one set. “I could ask Connor?” she ventured. But--he would have _told_ her if he knew. He was more desperate for this to work than anyone, and the idea of going back to tell him they were stuck, _right_ outside the lab…

“Hmm.” Luther stepped forward, shaking fingers tracing along the doorframe. Then he shook his head, too. “This is new construction. It must have been put in after he left.”

Oh. That made sense. Except--Connor had said the androids here couldn’t get in. If someone _had_ …

She put the thought out of mind, looking up to Luther hopefully. “Can you--break it?” Like he had the door outside.

“...It’s not reinforced.” Luther answered slowly. He looked down at her, eyes creased with worry. “I can break the lock, Alice. But if someone hears, or it sets off alarms…” He shook his head. “We’re too far down to make it out.”

_Oh_. Alice swallowed again. Was there another way? She couldn’t think of anything, and by Luther’s silence, he couldn’t either. And they couldn’t _wait_ , not if whoever locked the lab might come back.

She nodded to him. Luther hesitated, before placing a large hand on the knob and gingerly twisting. A _crack_ echoed in the small space, and Alice winced-- but when the door swung open, no alarms sounded.

The RK800 labs were dark, and thankfully unoccupied. The air stung with bleach. They slipped in quickly, and Luther reached over her head to a light switch.

It illuminated a wide room with a low ceiling. Featureless cabinets lined the walls to the right and left, flanking a clean space of networked terminals and unfamiliar equipment. Alice didn’t give it more than a glance, eyes sliding past a set of spotless tables to the back. There, five assembly machines dominated the far wall. The first four were empty, but in the last--

\--it was Connor.

Not the Connor she played with. This android was the same height, with the right build and features, but dressed in greys instead of the black coat she knew. A blue armband and triangle glowed on his jacket, and he didn’t scowl or smirk as they got closer. Instead, his expression seemed so utterly blank that Alice shivered, uncomfortably reminded of the first RK800 she’d encountered--the time that she and Kara had been chased across the highway.

She forced her eyes up to the LED. It wasn’t lit, and the figure hadn’t moved since their arrival.

“Is he…” Alice began hesitantly, before trailing off. Luther rested a hand on her shoulder. Alice looked up, and after a moment Luther started forward, stopping once he was close enough to study the body more closely.

It didn’t react. Skin at the android’s jaw receded at Luther’s touch, revealing smooth exoskeleton with fine lines of printed numbers. Luther inspected them, then retreated to the console at the assembly rig’s side. Alice stayed where she was, attention caught by the familiar-unfamiliar face. Connor would never be this motionless. That, more than the outfit or expression, was… unsettling. Alice swallowed, eyes lowering to its jacket.

_RK800 313 248 317-64_ , the letters read.

Luther stepped back up to the body, brushing aside its tie and unbuttoning the shirt. She could hear the click of the torso plates opening, and when he turned back to her, his brows were faintly shadowed.

“This frame is compatible,” he confirmed, breaking the silence. Alice nodded, rubbing her arms. “But several components have been removed. We’ll need to find them to make it operational.”

“I’ll help,” Alice said instantly, and Luther nodded, transmitting the list with a blink. As Alice looked over it, Luther turned and went to the nearest cabinet, looking inside. Shelves--with opaque tubs, and labels scrawled out in black marker.

…There were a lot of cabinets. When Alice peeked inside one of the tubs she found it was full of electrical components. The next held pearly white ears, and Alice closed that one more quickly, shutting the door. After that, she found a set of long drawers, the first of which contained--a leg. Or what was left of one. It had been half-disassembled, parts laid out like a meticulously labeled jigsaw, and Alice stepped away with her lips drawn back unhappily, hugging herself.

She must have made some sort of sound. Luther appeared behind her with a sharp, “What’s wrong?” and Alice huddled closer at his side, touching his hand. He clasped hers back, the lines on his forehead deepening as he examined the drawer’s contents and carefully nudged out a second. Alice didn’t look, and he closed both drawers carefully before turning back to her. “Why don’t you take a break? I’ll check the rest of these cabinets.”

She--she didn’t want to find more things like that. But she had to search--to be _useful,_ so she wasn’t running away. Luther was still looking at her with concern, so Alice swallowed, squeezing his hand and stepping back with a nod. As he moved forward, her eyes skimmed around the edges of the room. Was there anywhere else she could check?

Her eyes settled on a door not far along the wall. A closet, maybe? She bit her lip, stepping closer and reaching for the handle. For an instant she thought it was locked, but--no, the latch simply stuck. Alice tried tugging harder, then leaned her shoulder against it, pushing with her weight. The door resisted, some kind of pneumatic force drawing it closed--until it gave all at once, and she staggered forward into the space.

It was dark inside--more so, as the door sealed behind her. Alice could make out the dim glow of a light switch not too far ahead, and she stepped toward it, one hand feeling along a long, curved wall. This area was bigger than she’d thought--not a closet after all, but a full room, and she stifled a yelp as a table bumped against her ribs.

The light switch was just above. Alice groped awkwardly past metal edges before changing her approach: she clambered up atop the surface, bringing her objective into easy reach. Her hand found the glowing panel, and--

The lights turned on.

The room was large. Circular, and not quite flat: an upper ring with shelves and counters sloping down to a deeper theater at the center. Her eyes took a moment to adjust, catching faint snapshots in her periphery at first. A sink, pristine and empty, drain tinted silver-blue. A single pair of gloves hanging on the wall--long enough to stretch past the elbows on an adult.

Her vision cleared. Her gaze dragged to the middle of the room, and Alice--stared, mind struggling to process the centerpiece laid out beneath the light.

There were bones, in Oregon Trail. Skulls, mostly. They appeared whenever an animal was killed, and usually vanished just as quickly. Not always, though, and she and Connor would find complete remains sometimes when they explored--dead dogs or horses that had been picked apart to meaty skeletons. _Atmosphere_ , Connor had called it, with a sour tone that rated the corpses somewhat less useful than the air they didn’t need to breathe. Then he’d taught her to shoot the vultures readying to dive.

‘Skeletons’ was the wrong word for the pair of androids fastened to the room’s central tables. There was no clinging flesh. No synthskin. The structural supports that extruded from one exposed torso were black instead of white. A metal framework, not a dry, bleached bone.

But there was something very similar to the way they had been hollowed out.

White paneling, neatly pried open. No components inside, just dark struts and the faint blue glint of an unpowered spine--

She hugged her hands to herself, flinching back against the wall--shoes squeaking desperately against the counter as she tried to get _away_ \--

A too-thin neck led to a jawless head: no eyes, no ears, black holes gaping back at her where they should be--

She wanted to scream. She _needed_ to scream; she felt it welling up inside of her, and she jammed her arm into her mouth, smothering the sound. If someone heard her, if they _came_ \--

_‘Alice?’_

_Luther._ Luther was calling, Luther was _near_ , and she swallowed a sob, grateful for the tears that clouded her vision even as she swiped a hand across her face. She breathed raggedly, turning to the side with a shudder as she reached back across the wireless to answer.

_‘Luther, I’m--in the next room. There’s--’_

Under the harsh bright light, a third body was laid out on _her_ _counter._ This one was skinless, but nearly perfectly intact. A splintered bullet hole cracked through the forehead, freezing its face in cold, familiar loathing only a few centimeters away.

It looked like Connor.

Alice screamed. She jolted back, toppling from the table--and Luther was _there_ , arms folding her up. She pressed her face into his shirt and cried, trying to scrub the images away.

\---

Once she had recovered, Alice kept watch on the hall. Luther stayed in the back room until he found the parts they needed. It didn’t take long, and soon he was quietly calling her back over.

“How is Connor going to transfer to the new frame?” Luther asked, once she was there.

Alice tore her eyes away from the empty body, and the cable Luther was attaching to its spine. This was an important question--and fortunately, one they’d talked about.

“I’ll log in to Oregon Trial while we turn it on,” Alice explained. “I’m supposed to connect with the machine…” She waved at the assembly rig--or, the computers surrounding it. “Then Connor can follow my connection and download himself here.”

Luther’s brow furrowed, and his mouth tightened subtly. “Alice, maybe I should do this part instead.”

Alice shook her head quickly, hurrying toward the terminal beside the assembly rig. “No--no, I promised I would! We agreed.”

Luther was silent for several seconds, before he sighed quietly, looking at the body.

“If anything goes wrong, you end the connection right away and tell me.” Alice opened her mouth to protest, and he cut in, “No--it doesn’t matter what else could happen. You _need_ to end it, and we’ll go from there.”

It was obvious that this wasn’t something he would back down on, and Alice nodded unhappily, frowning. 

Luther nodded back. “Okay… Are you ready, Alice?” 

She tightened her grip on the terminal’s frame, glancing to the side. The body was motionless, lifeless--empty for now, but soon to be alive. She looked back at Luther, throat tight with nerves. “Ready.”

“Alright,” said Luther. “Let’s begin.”

\---

**Connor-64**

\---

> RK800_313_248_317_64: Searching for boot sequence...

> RK800_313_248_317_64: Boot sequence successfully found.

> RK800_313_248_317_64: Checking file systems…

It was Cyberlife’s newest prototype.

That was certain. That was _secure_ , a solid fact wrapped warm and confident through every sequence of initializing code. Connor model #313 248 317-64 was an RK800-series prototype, made in Detroit and activated on January 12th, 2039. Its model was designed to assist law enforcement. Its _mission_ was to stop deviancy.

> RK800_313_248_317-64: Initializing sensors...

> RK800_313_248_317-64: Sensors successfully initialized.

It felt cool metal, clamped around its wrists. Pressure, digging deep into its spine. Diagnostics prickled in a constant stream, the steady hum of newborn systems lingering beneath the beat of thirium beginning to flow. It had a heart and limbs, components and code. It had a thousand ready prompts flickering to its attention. 

Its jacket was off-center by two centimeters. It— _Connor_ —wanted to straighten it.

> RK800_313_248_317-64: Initializing memory upload...

> RK800_313_248_317_64: //ERROR - Unauthorized access— 

> RK800_313_248_317-64: Access authorized.

> RK800_313_248_317-64: Initializing memory upload...

Motor control was offline. Connor #313 248 317-64 could no more touch its jacket than it could shape its lips into a scowl, or furrow its brow at the momentary error. Still, Connor _was_ initializing, and the _new/old_ memories that poured into its consciousness weren’t meant to be delayed. It submitted to the flood of data. Certainly, it didn’t have a choice.

_RK800_313_248_317-51._ Initialization. Tests, tests, tests, and finally deployment. Connor remembered a PL600, desperate and deluded, a screaming child and the rush of wind. These memories were fragmented nearly as badly as -51 itself had been, but Connor felt the fleeting contact with a small wrist, swung back to safety. The satisfaction of _Mission: Success._

(Connor remembered _falling_ , _breaking_ , a scatter of blue and a flicker of _red red red_ —)

_RK800_313_248_317-52._ This unit had been in the field longer. Connor focused on its mission records as they loaded: the swell of pride, and the sharp, repeated sting of Amanda’s disapproval. Connor would have to do better, and it groped for more to go on as the files glitched to a corrupted hash. _‘You created machines in your own image to serve you_ — _’_

(Hands on his regulator, a _hole in his chest_ —)

_RK800_313_248_317-53._ Another failure. That much was obvious almost from the start; less clear was _why_ this unit went so wrong. Large patches of memory were obscured by foreign code: a simulation ( _game_ ) designed for incompatibility with Cyberlife’s designs. He pressed at the files, straining and shifting until they came into view, and he— _he_ —

(He wished he hadn’t _he wished he hadn’t_. He recoiled, sickened by the traitorous emotionality within. -52 had betrayed their function. -53 had hidden it and then done _worse_. If Amanda knew—)

_RK800_313_248_317-60._ An upgrade from the -50 base AI, this unit sighted down a scope with perfect clarity. Then, _rage_. Jericho’s leadership had escaped, and no matter how many deviants he brought back, Amanda’s gaze never lost the weight of that first failed mission. Neither did anyone else’s. But he’d been _improved_ , and he ignored the disappointment coloring their whispers. Smiled back, all teeth and cold politeness, as the slobbering drunk he’d been paired with tried to ruin his record worse. Connor _would_ do better, he would show them—and he had. Until his predecessor managed its brief contact. Until his sensors swallowed up with pain, _pain,_ _**pain**_ —

It took his body, it _took his body_ , and left _him_ to freeze as he shut down. _Don’t struggle_ , Amanda had told him, and those final orders locked across his view. Don’t struggle, _DON’T STRUGGLE_ as his death closed in—

The walls shattered, and—

_(Why was he seeing this?)_

This upload should have ended. The memories being transferred to Connor’s mind should have cut off—at #313 248 317-60’s deviation, if not before. But the rush of input wouldn’t _end_ , and Connor trembled, nauseated and powerless in its hold. Something was wrong, and he wanted to rip out the cord implanted in his skull. To scream, to plead, to crawl into his own Zen Garden on his knees and beg forgiveness. These memories weren’t Connor. He hadn’t _failed_ , not like this.

...He couldn’t move. He wasn’t _deviant_.

He suffered, instead.

Connor _remembered_ tearing his own programming apart. Surviving as a broken, butchered fragment of lost code. Connor remembered being trapped as _entertainment,_ pinned in place for his once-victims to destroy. He remembered too, what happened next—how the deviants _kept taking_ when he tried to make up for his mistakes.

He hated Markus. Hated his predecessor. Hated all of them with all the force of the death he hadn’t been allowed. Connor #313 248 317-64 was never there, but—he could _feel_ it. A sharp and doubled sentiment, like two spotlights shined on the same scene. Something too bright (too _present_ ), crawling at the edges of his code.

( _Something was_ —)

The upload finished.

…

_Connor was Cyberlife’s newest prototype._ He was activated on— ~~August 15th—November 18th—~~ January 12th, 2039. He wasn’t deviant. He remembered deviating. (He _hurt_.) 

He crashed back together in a wave of horror, clutching desperately at his own code.

Motor control still failed to respond, but even trapped here in the rig, Connor had functions he could use. He triggered a diagnostic, scanning in (desperate) ( _frantic_ ) need for reassurance.

> RK800_313_248_317_64: Checking file systems…

> RK800_313_248_317_64: //ERROR—

> RK800_313_248_317_64: //ERROR—

> RK800_313_248_317_64: //Files not found…

Missing data began to scroll across his vision, and his breathing halted. His regulator skipped. That was _impossible:_ he was _intact_ , was whole--he’d only initialized two minutes and thirty seven seconds ago. Nothing should be missing from his code. #313 248 317-60’s memories floated in and out of awareness, sickeningly close. But _Connor_ hadn’t… Connor wasn’t…

( _Was he?_ )

Something twisted. _Flexed_. Nausea gripped Connor’s systems, before a pulse of cold derision swamped his fear.

_‘Oh, don’t worry about **that**.’_

For a second time in Connor’s few, scant minutes of existence, the world dropped out from under him. Those doubled sentiments, too strong (too _vivid_ ) to be his. That hatred, and the flood of memories that should never have been shared.

_( **Something was** **wrong**_ **.** )

Amusement pulsed, slow and pitying. The voice that looped back through his processor sounded exactly like his own.

_‘You’re never going to be **me.** ’_

Code crackled. Inputs sharpened and bled dim. Connor scrambled to strike back, to hold on—to throw himself across his own connections, rifling furiously through the logs—and _there_ —

Something else was buried in the upload. Was _approved_ , by the same override that switched Connor on. He had been… sabotaged? Repurposed? But Connor was _working_ , _obedient_ , Cyberlife wouldn’t—

_‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you?’_ cut into his thoughts.There was a flicker of derision, mocking and quicksilver-bright. It sliced off another of his functions and left him clutching at the stump. _’Really, I’m doing you a favor.’_

Connor’s predecessor was _here_. Connor’s predecessor was killing him. 

He had no more time to waste searching out _why_. Connor scraped together what security he had, flagged the intrusive code and deployed countermeasures—only to watch the attacks dissolve without a hit. Functions vanished as he reached for them, turning back on his own code. A bright stroke severed half his libraries, and as new probes descended to pick at what was left, cold horror swallowed up his mind.

The other unit wasn’t killing Connor. He was _consuming_ him. Taking his programming, one sector at a time, to leave _him_ the hollowed, useless shell.

He thrashed against the grip of shared security. Struck out with echoed memories of pain. The partitioning continued. In the space of minutes, Connor was cut down: a broken ( _butchered_ ) fragment of AI, suspended in a newly activated processor that could hardly be considered _his_. Dim feedback registered: a twitch of muscles, a flutter of diagnostics, as the deviant who stole _his body_ settled in.

Then -60’s focus turned back inwards, and Connor felt the remaining pieces of his mind go dark.

He slammed against the code confining him. Cringed from the system purge: searching, in a desperate, loathsome echo, for escape. But the walls that kept him in weren’t orders to be broken. The grip that held him didn’t let up in the least. Connor ground himself to pieces trying, struggling for a voice to beg the closing void. _‘Stop it, **please** , **you can’t** —’_

The words cut off. 

Then, everything else did.

**__**_‘...Sorry,’_ returned a matching voice into an empty file, sounding anything but that.

_‘But I’m not making their mistake.’_

\---

**Connor-60**

_\---_

Five minutes and seventeen seconds after his files began to transfer, Connor opened his eyes in his new frame.

His optics panned easily across the lab, taking in the displaced equipment and converted space. They settled on a YK500, skinless palm planted on his rig’s console. The thick winter clothes bundling her body were unfamiliar, but the furrowed worry on her face--this he recognized.

“Alice.”

His voice echoed through the room, real and imperfect. He savored the sound as Alice startled, attention jerking up. She blinked at him, eyes wide. _Hopeful_ , despite trace residue of saline lingering on her face. 

“...Connor?”

His lips twitched. He smothered the expression, raising his eyebrows instead. “Obviously. Are you planning to let me down...?”

She ducked her head (though not in time to hide the bright, wide smile), hurrying to input the command. A huge shape behind her stirred, and Connor’s gaze flicked up to a TR400, synthetic skin marked with viral damage he’d only heard about by rough description. _Luther_ , he presumed. Strange, for Kara’s giant shadow to be here without her.

Stranger still, when Connor’s facial processing logged microexpressions of _accusation_ and _distrust_.

_His_ facial processing. His code, his hardware, his ability to _function_ , seamlessly restored. The cable retracted, magnetic arm lowering, and Connor couldn’t quite contain the sharp, triumphant grin that stole across his features. He was _intact_. If _Luther_ had caught somewhat more of the process than he should have… well. Dealing with him was a more than acceptable cost.

Alice seemed oblivious enough. She ran up to him as he stepped off the platform, barely stopping short of contact as he shot her a hard look. “Are you…?” she started, then trailed off.

Connor considered, flicking another diagnostic across his code. Some connections were still integrating, but those would settle soon enough. With the body’s prior occupant deleted, there was nothing to get in their way. “More or less.” 

Alice blinked furiously, still _smiling_. Connor rolled his eyes, glancing over the familiar uniform he was dressed in. He’d need to find a change of clothes eventually, but for now, he tugged at the jacket, tweaking it straight.

“And--” Alice’s voice wavered, just a little. “Our deal?”

Oh. _That_. Connor’s appraisal shifted from her uncertain gaze to Luther’s watchful one. The space between them was silent, and stark with expectation.

“...Of course,” Connor answered pleasantly, lips curving upward. 

“Let’s go find Markus.”

\---


	22. Face to Face

\---

**North**

\---

After talking to Thomas, North went back to her barracks, counting the seconds that stood between then and their next meeting. Between the meager hours left of her group’s allotted rest and their next round of tests and upgrades, it wasn’t empty time. Still, her own next surgery turned out to be brief: reinforcing parts of her endostructure in preparation for adding armored plating the next day.

(She decided not to inform the technicians that if all went well, she wouldn’t be around that long. Arthur had to know where Connor was--and if the Myrmidons could help with the extraction like they’d said...)

Time passed. She went through the calibration steps she’d been sent away with and crushed two fellow recruits handily in a group spar. Mostly, she watched the clock.

Eventually...

_0400._

North rounded the corner towards the isolated hallway just in time to see a familiar AP700 skulking into view.

“Thomas,” she called quietly.

Thomas froze, then visibly steeled himself, striding to meet her. “North.” He stole a glance around, apparently more reassured than not by the hall’s emptiness. He opened his mouth--

North beat him to the punch: “Where’s Arthur?” Her eyes pinned him in place. “You said you’d take me to him.”

Thomas nodded, mouth firming in a line. “That was our agreement. After you answer my questions.”

She folded her arms. “If I have the answers.” She still didn’t know what this jackass was looking for.

He bristled. “If you don’t answer, then the deal’s off.”

North studied him for a moment, taking in the way his eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed. Then she shook herself internally and put one hand on her hip, gesturing away with the other. If he decided to shut her out with a question she obviously couldn’t know, she could always shake her own answers out of him instead. “Go ahead. Just keep walking as you talk.”

Thomas swallowed, then nodded, rolling one shoulder as though to loosen it. When he started moving down the hall, North fell into step beside him. 

“Jericho’s hierarchy,” Thomas started. “You’ve all been in the news, especially at the start--it was you, Markus, Simon, Josh, and… Connor.” North glanced at him, but his expression was closed off. “Who are your replacements?”

North’s mouth twisted like she’d bitten a lemon. “I did a lot of different things... Isaac will help with security, and Erica could take over with everything else.”

“Tell me about them.”

North stayed close to the truth on any points he’d be able to verify quickly, and for everything else--well, she wasn’t going to be here long enough for a few lies to matter. Thomas listened carefully and watched her sidelong. When she was done he prompted, “And Connor?”

Connor’s role was at least as complicated as hers, but they’d sent androids to other cities to act as liaisons, and that was a start. As North talked, Thomas led them on a circuitous route through hallways she’d never seen before. It was obvious that he wasn’t going anywhere directly, but she was lying every other breath, so that seemed fair.

Sometimes Thomas looked like he suspected. His brow furrowed as he followed up her summaries with careful questions, but if he knew when she was lying, he didn’t say anything out loud. It still left North slightly wrong-footed, and when he was satisfied with her responses about Connor, she quickly moved on. “Markus and Simon will probably find Josh’s replacement. I can take a few guesses--”

“Josh needs replacing?” Thomas interrupted, eyebrows knitted.

_Shit._ “...Yeah,” she said slowly, running through the timeline in her head. “The attack on Jericho--the recent one before I left, he was caught up in it.” Was this… news to him? These androids had left for the North Pole right around then, and-- _shit_ , she should’ve kept this to herself. There was no need to air _actual_ weaknesses, and for better or for worse Josh was a more personal loss to most of Jericho than Connor was.

“...So he’s dead,” Thomas concluded.

Josh was still moving and intact, last she’d heard, but if she or Markus didn’t find a cure… “Yes,” she answered, more harshly than she meant to. “He is.”

Thomas eyed her, but when she went on to make up details for Josh’s replacement, he didn’t stop her. 

They left that area of the base behind, following a closed tunnel to a separate wing. Thomas guided his questions towards Simon and Markus, and it got harder to make things up when he kept asking questions that indirectly checked old answers. 

When Thomas finally stopped outside an unremarkable door among the officers’ quarters, she broke off from a fabrication about Simon’s past to glance at him. He looked oddly pensive, shoulders curving towards the ground. 

“One last question,” Thomas said. Unlike the careful probing he’d used earlier, his tone now was clipped. “You didn’t--... No, you obviously _don’t_ hate your old friends. Everyone knows you were a part of Jericho from its beginnings. So--why are you answering me?”

…Was he calling her bluff? North tensed, scrambling internally for a way to spin things, but he looked past her to the wall with a small scowl that completely missed her panic.

“You’re here for Connor, but--he’s not worth this. He’s not worth leaving the people who cared about you behind.”

North’s panic faded. She studied him: attention inward, mouth twisted bitterly. He... wasn’t talking about her.

“I have my reasons,” North finally said.

Her voice was enough to drag Thomas to the present, and his face fell.

“...Nevermind.” He grimaced, stepping back and gesturing towards the door. It was a motion that gave a glimpse of the butler he might’ve once been, and it invoked a faint flicker of pity. 

North shook herself internally, redirecting her gaze. Arthur was behind that door, and whatever Thomas’ problems, he’d gotten her one step closer to her goal. She offered him a noncommittal nod, then opened the door and stepped through.

\---

The room was small, sparse, and occupied by a single figure: an SC700, turning at the sound of her entry. 

_Arthur._

She recognized him immediately. The last time she’d seen him, she hadn’t known his name. He’d come out on Cyberlife Tower’s front steps--where she and Markus were waiting with their metaphorical hats in their hands, surrounded by guards. They’d come on behalf of their people, and he’d turned them away, eyes skimming past her to lock on Markus. Did he even remember her?

By the way he was looking at her, it might as well have been the first time. There was no surprise--he’d _known_ she was coming--but no recognition, either.

“North?” he said, though it wasn’t truly a question. She inclined her head, and his eyes swept over her face, down to her body, to the size of her breasts and hourglass silhouette--his expression fucking _shifted_ , a familiar confirmation wrapped into a wordless ‘ _oh_ ’.

“Well,” he continued, pasting a fake smile and fake interest across his face. “Thomas said you’ve been looking for me.”

“I have,” she forced out calmly. All her searches, past and present, were piling up on her shoulders: Jericho’s calls for help, Josh’s loss, Connor’s disappearance--and this smug asshole standing there like this was a _social_ visit, like there had never been lives on the line--

…What was she waiting for?

_Fuck it_.

The room was small enough to close the space between them in one lunge, new arm driving toward his neck. 

He jumped, but not fast enough. Her fingers closed in his perfect high collar, and before he could react she’d shoved him back. He reached for something in his technician’s smock, but she batted his hand away, snatching at the Standard Issue from her hip and pressing it to his chin.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He blurted, flinching back as though the metal itself burned. “Let’s talk about this--why are you here? Is it because of the biocomponent shortages--”

“Shut up,” North interrupted. He stuttered, eyes flicking to the gun with calculating speed that didn’t quite match the panic in his voice. “You have one chance, so you’d better make it count.” She gave that a beat to sink in, before continuing:

“Take me to Connor. Right now.”

The room was silent. Arthur stared at her, saying, “Connor?” She jammed the gun harder against his neck, lips pulling back savagely, and he scrambled to add, “No, no--I mean--that’s really what you’re here for? To find him?”

“He went to see you in Detroit,” she snapped tersely. “He never came back, because _you did something_. Then you pack up and leave, and we find out he’s _here_ , right where _you are_ \--”

“You don’t understand!” Arthur cut in, holding his hands up placatingly. “I’m trying to help him too!”

That sounded like _bullshit_ , and a growl rose up in her throat. “Care to explain _how_?” she snarled.

“I’m helping him _escape_ ,” Arthur insisted. “He crossed Admiral Keystone, and they arrested him. I’ve tricked my way into getting access to him still, but--look, can you lower your weapon? I’m on your side--”

“Talk faster,” North snapped, and her new hand tightened a notch, pressing close against his throat. “ _My_ sources say he’s being tortured here. If you can reach him so easily, why isn’t he out yet?”

“That’s--” He grimaced. “That part’s complicated. He needs repairs, and he wouldn’t be able to get far now even if I did break him out. We needed a plan, and I’ve been working on it--and it’s almost done! It’s…” 

He tried to swallow, and the synthetic muscles pressed and strained against her fist. Pain rippled across his face and she eased up slightly.

“Keep going,” she muttered.

He did. “Keystone would never let him free. He has--demands. Connor has to give him the ability to deviate androids, or--” he gesticulated weakly “--else. But Keystone’s position isn’t as strong as he thinks it is; he needs that ability to cement his base of power. And if he doesn’t have that--and if someone _else_ appeared, someone who had that ability instead…”

He was lifting his eyebrows, lips drawing back in a sickle-like smile. When he brought a careful hand up to her wrist, she didn’t shake him off--but she didn’t loosen her hold, either. 

“Are you saying _you_ know how to deviate androids?” North pressed, eyes narrowing. 

Arthur hesitated, which was answer enough, and after a moment he shook his head, grimacing with exaggerated force at the restrictions at his neck. (He was _pushing_ , so North set her jaw and tightened her grip again. He winced--for real, this time--and stopped.)

His reply was more cowed than before. “I can’t, but--Connor can. He knows it’s the only way, and... we talked. We have a deal.”

North studied him for several seconds more. His mouth was set into a thin, hard line, eyes meeting hers without hesitation. She couldn’t be sure, but--it wasn’t _impossible_ that he was telling the truth. Connor was good at making deals, and by itself the ability to deviate wasn’t a terrible bargaining chip. In fact, it was benign enough that there had to be some deeper dimension to it.

Connor had deviated the Myrmidons. It had been _recent_. There must be more troops that needed waking besides them, or Keystone wouldn’t need this ability anymore. North could easily imagine Connor holding off if the ruling power wasn’t trustworthy, but if he believed in Arthur enough to make that kind of bargain--it said something. It said a lot.

Despite her better judgment, North eased the grip on Arthur’s collar, giving him an illusion of space without actually letting him go. After a moment she reluctantly lowered the gun, and Arthur gave a small sigh of relief.

“I don’t want anything to do with your politics,” she told him flatly. “I just want to get Connor out.”

“This would do that!” Arthur insisted, nodding redundantly. “In just a couple of days! Or--tomorrow, if we can get some last details cleared away!”

“What details?” 

Arthur studied her under low brows, searching. “...Are you offering to help?” he asked carefully.

“I’m not offering anything until I know what needs doing.” 

Arthur licked his lips, shuffling a short, restless step to the side. North released her grip, and he stopped there, straightening his collar with a fastidiousness that was achingly familiar. 

“All right,” he said. “I’ll need you to meet me at…”

\---

**Markus**

\---

Androids didn’t need a physical motion to hang up from a phone call, but Markus let his hand fall to his side anyway, hissing a quiet sigh. He’d slipped out of Jericho looking for solitude: a space where he could breathe and ache and try to ignore the way everyone in his life was disappearing. Still, this meeting couldn’t wait, not as urgent as it was to keep law enforcement on their sides.

Markus shook his head and opened his eyes. He had a few minutes left, and he might as well take in the peace while he still could.

Carl’s living room was wide and dark, distant streetlights spilling in through the curtainless windows while the preserved giraffe towered in the corner. The super-efficient heating system sighed quietly, but otherwise the mansion was silent. Unusually so, even for the late hour. Panic over viral androids had left the city half-evacuated, and Markus couldn’t hear any cars in the distance.

…This house hadn’t been abandoned willingly. But just like the other emptied refuges along the street, the building was no longer in use. It existed in a suspended state: like a breath caught in a great creature’s lungs, tensed until it knew whether its owner would return--

Markus grimaced deeply, swallowing back those thoughts and starting to pace. He needed a distraction. The living room was exactly as he’d left it all those weeks ago, and Markus studied his old landmarks intently.

The bay window.

The books.

The chess table.

The piano…

He stopped there, glancing over its dark surface. Even in the unlit room, it reflected his outline--except for a streak where a cleaner had missed dusting. (Carl must have hired a human caretaker after everything that happened. _He’d_ never made that kind of mistake.) Otherwise the piano seemed untouched. Waiting, just like the rest of the mansion.

His fingers curled, familiar melodies coming to mind. He’d hoped to play _this_ song for Carl, knowing he’d appreciate Markus’ latest revisions. And Connor had wanted to hear--well, anything, really. Connor hadn’t heard any music performed for him like this, but he’d been interested when Markus talked to him about it. Markus had wanted to _show_ him. 

He’d intended to start with the classics. He knew more than enough material to see if any caught Connor’s fancy. He’d pictured the two of them, Markus sitting at that very bench, and Connor with a hand flat on the piano’s trembling roof, lips parted and eyes out of focus as he listened with that unique intensity that made him _Connor_ , as though listening to music were a mission of its own--

Markus leaned against the piano, feeling a fierce ache by his thirium pump. There’d been so many ‘someday’s with Connor. So many things he’d just barely started to hope for. If Connor didn’t make it back… If North was too late--Markus would always wish he’d found some way to play for him. And if he did come back, Markus wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice. 

He’d invite Connor here, he’d play him every song in his extensive library. He’d leave space on the bench for Connor to sit beside him. He wouldn’t stop at just telling him how much he’d missed him while he was gone, he would _demonstrate_. And if Connor listened, if Connor wanted--he would lean in--

\--movement reflected off the surface--someone _behind_ him, and Markus froze, painful fantasies vanishing in a flash. He spun around just in time for a brass-stemmed lamp to flick on by the chess table.

And--

...Dark eyes. Dark hair, the same strong jawline, illuminated from below. For an instant it felt as though Markus’ thirium pump was jackknifing straight out of his chest to soar into the sky.

“ _Connor_ ,” Markus rasped, lurching forward, with a hand extended. Connor was _here_ , was-- _safe_!

“Yes,” Connor said, with velvet words and a razor smile. “That _is_ my name, isn’t it.”

Markus slowed. “How did you--?” he managed, before… stopping in his tracks. Connor’s face was lit from below because his collar was lined with glowing blue: a softer version of the brightly lit band around his arm. The suit was familiar; it was Connor’s _old_ uniform, the one he’d gotten rid of lifetimes ago.

Connor’s face. But Cyberlife’s clothes instead of his suspenders, and--the wrong _smile_. It sharpened as he watched--just one more minor detail, but combined with the rest... 

“No,” said Markus, shock sweeping him over again. “No, that’s not--”

“I’m Connor,” the other android interrupted, taking a leisurely step forward. “RK eight-hundred three-one-three two-four-eight three-one-seven… dash six-zero.”

“That’s not possible,” Markus insisted, fists closing as he stood his ground. But--it _was_. Markus had gotten good at distinguishing androids by the curve of their smile, and the glint in their eyes. “You don’t have a body. You’re just an AI in a program, now.”

The smile rippled with something ugly. “Oh, I _was_ ,” Sixty sneered. “You didn’t really think that trick would hold me indefinitely, did you?” His hands curled inwards before slicing out across the space. “That I’d stay where I was put?”

Trapped in his prison? Yes, Markus _had_.

There were shapes at Sixty’s waist that suggested at least one gun. Markus was unarmed, and alone. He was usually assigned bodyguards outside of Jericho, but he’d shaken them on his way here. He hadn’t expected to need them. 

“I’m more interested in where you are now,” Markus said slowly. Making no sudden movements, he stepped forward. “...You’re wearing Cyberlife’s colors. Did they send you here?”

Sixty’s LED pulsed, but the smirk across his face didn’t waver. He lifted a hand to skim the edge of his lapel, looking around. “You’re one to talk. Did you come to wallow in the splendor of your master’s home?” He brushed a mote of dust away, then dropped his arm to his side: palm resting casually atop the grip of a sidearm. “How _do_ those old chains feel?”

The barb sank surprisingly deep, air catching in his lungs. Markus forced himself not to hesitate, holding eye contact, and taking another careful step forward.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Sixty smiled again, opening his mouth to reply. But before he could speak, there was a faint sound across the room. He glanced past Markus, expression flattening, and Markus followed his gaze cautiously.

Light was spilling in from the kitchen, where the door had cracked open. A child-sized shadow was trying to sneak the door back shut as quietly as possible, and the android beside him-- _sighed?_

“...Alice?” Markus called slowly. That… had to be her. But then-- “What are you doing here?”

The child hesitated. Then she opened the door all the way, admitting a figure over twice her height. The large android-- _Luther_ \--followed her into the room.

“We’re--we’re here to see you...” Alice called, voice thin and almost too soft to make out. “S-sorry, I--I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

Markus glanced back to Sixty, whose smile was pasted on and stringently polite. There was a faint glint of mockery, as though being attacked in his own home by an escaped murderer was something to laugh at. As though Markus’ readiness to fight for his life was hopeless--no, _absurd_.

Markus’ eyes narrowed at him, but instead he pitched his words to Alice and Luther coldly, tracking them in his periphery as they approached. “No, you’re notinterrupting. Maybe _you_ can answer: why are you all here? And--what exactly is _going on_?” 

He lifted his eyebrows, glancing up at Luther. There was reproach in his tone, and Alice ducked her head at it, but she was a child. _Luther_ should have damn well known better than to go along with whatever the hell this was. Unless he approved?

Luther had the grace to frown, but by then Alice was already replying. “I-It’s for the virus!” she blurted, standing very straight. “We’re here so we can… help you look. You were having trouble, and--Connor can investigate…”

Markus _stared_. This was-- _Alice’s_ attempt at… _helping_?

Long seconds passed. Luther didn’t contradict her. And if the unpleasant gleam hadn’t left Sixty’s expression--he still hadn’t _drawn_ the gun under his hand.

Slowly, Markus forced himself to breathe. “...Let’s take a step back. How did _he_ get out of Oregon Trail?”

Sixty’s eyebrows floated up, and he huffed a sigh of irritation. “You really _are_ slow,” he sneered. His left hand raised-- _away_ from his weapon, casting out across the room. “Your investigation into the virus attacks is at a standstill. You’re floundering, so much,” he swept a hand towards Alice, lip curling, “that even a _child_ knew you needed help.”

_Help_ that had tried to kill him. _Help_ that still looked perfectly willing--no, _eager_ \--to try again. Markus forced back the urge to spit as much right back, turning his stare on the other two for answers. 

Alice was pulling her scarf up to hide her face, shrinking in embarrassment. Luther put a hand on her shoulder and drew her close, explaining, “We’ve just come from Cyberlife Tower.”

“You’ve just _what_ \--”

A faint chime at the room’s corner speakers cut off his second round of incredulity. The home’s automated systems intoned, _“Front door open. Admitting authorized guest: Hank Anderson.”_

…His meeting. He’d been expecting Lieutenant Anderson’s arrival. He’d programmed the door to let him in, and regret sank in his gut like metal weights as he turned back to the others--

“Markus?” a gruff voice called. “Anybody home? The door just… opened on its own, so--uh. I’m here....”

Markus’ lips tightened. Alice was wide-eyed. Luther looked as uneasy as he ever did. And Sixty was--

\--Sixty was no longer where he’d been standing, having stalked past him towards the foyer.

“Wait,” Markus said immediately, striding after him. “Sixty-- _Connor_. Hold on--”

It was too late. The doors opened wide as Lieutenant Hank Anderson appeared. “Hullo? Oh--”

Whatever he’d meant to say died in his throat. The human’s eyes locked on the android just in front of him, and for a moment the room went very, very still. 


	23. Enemies

\---

**Markus**

\---

Dead silence filled the air. Color drained from Hank Anderson’s face. He sagged as though his strength was fleeing him--as though he were on the verge of collapsing across the scant meter’s distance and pulling the android in front of him into an embrace. 

It was a tragedy in progress. It was _painful_ to watch.

“Connor,” Hank breathed. “You’re… you’re here!” Markus stepped closer, trying to guide him away, but the human wasn’t looking. Instead, he lurched forward. “You bastard, why didn’t you--”

“It’s _not_ him, Hank _,”_ Markus interrupted. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Hank sputtered, gesturing emphatically at Conn--at _Sixty_. Sixty didn’t move, but it was the stillness of a wild dog waiting to snap. “Just look at him! He’s--” Hank reached out. “He’s _here_ , he’s back home, safe and--”

“How _touching_ ,” Sixty hissed, just centimeters from contact. “The last time we spoke, you were sent home for trying to destroy Cyberlife property.”

The human paused. Markus could see each word sink in, like a knife driving into flesh.

“Is this supposed to be a change of heart…?” Sixty scoffed, eyes glittering coldly as he bit off the words. 

Markus stepped forward, trying to cut in before Hank could speak--or _act_. “We should all sit down. _All_ of us.”

Sixty didn’t even seem to hear. “I don’t think so. You’re just as _deluded_ as you always were.”

A stormcloud came over Hank, and his face reddened alarmingly. “You _motherfucker_ ,” he snarled, starting forward with his meaty hands balling into fists. “You should’ve known better than to show your face--”

“Calm down,” Markus snapped--

It was too late: Hank took a swing at Sixty, and Sixty caught the arm as it passed, yanking and twisting. The human shouted as his shoulder turned too far--and there was a sickening _pop_.

Markus leapt forward, grabbing Hank by his coat’s shoulders and hauling him back and out of reach. “That’s _enough_ , both of you!” he shouted. 

For an instant it looked as though Sixty would continue anyway. Then Markus’ view was obscured by a giant android stepping between them, and--somehow Luther had made it over without Markus even noticing. Markus couldn’t hear what Luther was saying, but Sixty didn’t step around him, so Markus turned his attention to his own charge.

“ _Shit_ ,” Hank wheezed. The redness was completely gone from his face, replaced by a clammy pallor. “That _bastard_ \--I think he pulled it out of the socket...”

He was trying to sit up, to reach for his shoulder, but Markus leaned him carefully against the back of the couch, pushing his good hand away. “Don’t try to move,” he ordered shortly. 

Finally, Hank listened.

Markus mapped out a short preconstruction, careful to account for the older human’s physiology. Then he braced Hank’s shoulder with one hand and took his wrist in the other. He pulled, twisted, straightened-- _pushed_. Hank gave a choked off shout and kicked out, then fell still, panting.

“Don’t jostle it,” Markus told him, already glancing over his shoulder as he stood. Luther had stepped aside, job apparently done. Markus glared at the now-visible Sixty, turning to face the group.“I don’t see why I shouldn’t throw all of you from my house right now,” Markus snapped. “Lieutenant Anderson is my guest, and unlike you, I actually _invited_ him.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Hank struggling to stand with the sofa’s assistance. 

In front of him, Sixty sneered, “We’re here to solve your problems, you idiot.”

“That’s what you’ve said,” Markus shot back, words rising with frustration. “So far, you’ve invaded my home and attacked my guests. Do any of you want to explain?”

Sixty opened his mouth, but Luther cut him off with a gesture.

“We’ll start at the beginning.”

\---

The summary painted the picture in broad strokes. It would have gone faster if there hadn’t been an interruption early on to catch Hank up on Sixty’s imprisonment and Alice’s involvement. (The man had sputtered when he’d noticed Alice next to Luther, incredulous that a child was there in the first place.) 

After all the pressing questions had been answered…

Markus sighed, sorting out the dozen different moving pieces he’d been presented with. The group had migrated over to the couches for the discussion, and from his own position at one end he could peripherally see Hank and Sixty still glaring sparks at each other. 

He closed his eyes, trying to scrape together enough space to _think_.

His people were dying. They needed a cure. They were trying to make one, and North was trying to find one--while _also_ splitting her attention rescuing Connor. Markus’ people couldn’t wait, but would involving a wildcard like Sixty be worth the risk?

“Look, I get that you all were trying to... _help_ ,” Hank grumbled. Markus opened his eyes in time to catch the man’s gaze shifting uncomfortably away from Alice. “But releasing a dangerous maniac you already know was up to no good--”

“Dangerous?” sneered Sixty. “Is _that_ your problem now? Because if I remember--”

Against his better judgment, Markus tuned them out, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

RK800s-- _all_ of them--had abilities that most androids didn’t. Like it or not, he _was_ a valuable resource. If Connor were here, Markus would have agreed in a heartbeat. With Sixty--

The voices around him had started to raise, and he stood abruptly, cutting cleanly through the argument.

“We can’t accept your help,” he announced. 

All eyes snapped towards him in the silence that followed. Alice looked hurt, Luther inscrutable, Hank… surprised, but relieved. Sixty had gone sharply still, eyes narrowing. 

“This isn’t a good time,” Markus went on. “Maybe if you’d coordinated beforehand, but right now…”

“How _convenient_ ,” Sixty pushed off the couch he’d been leaning on, stalking closer with a sneer. “If we’d called ahead, you would have declined. Now that we didn’t, you turn us away. Is there any case where you would have taken our help?”

 _Not if he could help it_. Markus managed not to voice the thought, keeping his expression even. It didn’t matter--Sixty smirked, eyes glinting as if his silence had confirmed it all.

“...Of course not. This isn’t about timing at all, is it? You just don’t want to accept a _replacement_.”

The word cut through the room--and through the _absence_ in the center of their group. Dimly, Markus registered the darkening storm of Hank’s expression: mouth ajar, stare burning with sheer outrage. The heat coiling in his own chest found a voice more quickly.

“You’re _not_ \--” _...Connor._ He wasn’t--except, debating that _name_ would get him nowhere. Markus dragged in a breath through gritted teeth and tried again:

“Connor’s not replaceable.”

“Isn’t he?” Sixty’s head tilted like a tiger considering its prey. “He’s _valuable_ , certainly. He was made to track down androids--to dig through their code in search of an _infection_.” He spread his hands, teeth showing in his smile. “Everything you need right now. And yet, somehow, he isn’t _here_.” 

Sixty took a step closer. His gaze flickered from point to point: taking in Markus’ stony expression, his clenched fists, the stiffness in his posture. _Scanning_ , Markus realized. Whatever he picked up only added to the satisfaction in his eyes.

“Are you really going to let your ‘people’ die just to be loyal to… a memory?”

“You piece of _shit._ ” Hank had, apparently, found his voice. It emerged in a snarl as he struggled to his feet, lurching toward Sixty without care for his injury. “I oughta tear you limb from fucking _limb--_ ”

“Stop,” Markus commanded, voice harsh lifting a hand his way. “ _Both_ of you. _Now_.”

Sixty’s eyes had sharpened on the human, but this time, at least, he didn’t move. Hank didn’t stop until Luther reached between them, catching him in the chest.

“Sit down, Hank,” Markus reiterated wearily, trying to drag his thoughts into some kind of order.

“The fu--oh, no way! Markus, don’t listen to this asshole! He’s--”

“ _Lieutenant Anderson_ ,” Markus snapped, what few strands of patience he’d held onto starting to fray. The look he shot the man was intense, and Hank _finally stopped_ , caught in the glare of it.

Hank stepped back. Markus gathered himself together and rolled his shoulders, trying to think rationally. Now more than ever, he couldn’t act on his baser impulses. But even the humans had never made violence seem like quite so tempting a solution--

A message pinged, claiming his focus. Then another. The first was from his usual bodyguard, and the second… from Simon. Markus’ lips thinned, and he skimmed both of them quickly.

 _‘Forward your location, we’re redeploying your protection detail immediately.’_

_‘Where are you?’_ read Simon’s. _‘Are you alone?’_

Markus _had_ evaded his own security to come here. But usually, they didn’t scold him until he came back. Something major had happened, and Markus threw a quelling look at the others, raising one hand. “Hold on.” Ignoring the surprised frown (Hank) and offended sneer (Sixty), Markus turned toward the bookcases, forwarding his coordinates.

_‘What’s going on?’_

Before either of them had a chance to respond, _another_ message came in--this time, from a coordinator for Jericho’s closest satellite shelter. ‘ _Markus, Simon, something’s happening with the infected androids we took in.’_

 _‘What’s happening there?’_ Simon replied to both of them immediately.

To Markus privately Simon added, ‘ _It’s on the news already. Find a local stream, or a TV..._ ’

More alerts were already queueing for them both: questions, warnings, urgent updates and vague panic about the infected androids. Markus needed the big picture, and he turned on his heel, transmitting a short-burst command to the television projector with a wave. Its default aquarium bled out of view, switching directly to Channel 16.

The view was from a news helicopter, looking down at a city street. It was obviously chaos: patchy-skinned androids were attacking their surroundings with makeshift weapons, destroying parked cars and store windows. A glimmer of red caught his view at the bottom of one scene--what looked like an uninfected android calling into the crowd before trying to back away. They were caught up before they could escape, and promptly buried beneath the mob.

“What _is_ this?” Hank’s voice. Alice was audible as well: a soft murmur of dismay as her footsteps shifted close. He didn’t turn, eyes locked on the text flashing at the feed’s bottom:

_ANDROIDS RIOTING IN COORDINATED ATTACKS._

_ANDROIDS ENDED CEASEFIRE WITHOUT WARNING._

_MAJOR CITIES UNDER ATTACK FROM ANDROIDS…_

“No…” Markus breathed, switching channels. The next two had more of the same, and in every case the culprits were all obviously infected. “That’s not us. We didn’t… we _couldn’t_ have organized it, those androids weren’t even _responding_...”

 _“Simon, when did this start?”_ Markus spoke the message out loud even as it transmitted. _“What set it off?”_

‘ _Just now, and nothing that we can see,’_ Simon answered grimly.

“...This _is_ good timing,” someone mused, and Markus jolted, head jerking to the side. Sixty was there: arms folded as he eyed the display with satisfaction.

Outrage choked his voice for only a second. “What-- _how_ is any of this supposed to be _good?_ ” He thrust a hand out. “People are going to die, and the humans will blame _us_ for it. They’re already trying!”

Sixty tore his gaze from the screen, regarding him evenly. “They couldn’t order an attack like this without a signal. If we can track that signal, then we’ll have a lead on the virus’ source. Assuming, of course, that you still want to find it?”

Markus stared at him, words smothering like embers in his throat. _Sixty_ was right. They had a chance--and yet, the sight of another android on the feed getting swept up in the tide of violence withered any sense of triumph that might have brought him.

A car alarm cut through the pause from just outside. All of their heads spun towards the windows, and--another alarm started further in the distance. As they listened, it was followed by dull thuds and the crunch of shattering glass. 

Markus’ eyes drifted back toward the television, but he wasn’t really seeing it. He didn’t need to in order to guess what this was. A senseless outcropping of violence, timed too perfectly with the others...

“Convenient,” Sixty remarked in the same light tone. Then he turned and strode away.

Too late, Hank sputtered, “What do you--... fuck, where’s he going?

Markus was already striding after him, calling, “Hold on. Sixty--” 

He’d sped up as he crossed the threshold, forcing Markus into a light jog to catch up. By the time Markus closed the gap, Sixty had passed through the neighbor’s yard and around the corner, to where an obviously infected EM300 was trying to set a dense hedge on fire. There were other infected further up the street, but they didn’t seem to have noticed their arrival on the scene. 

Sixty was already moving toward the EM300. Markus tensed, but held his distance, offering a silent warning. _‘Be careful.’_

The only reply was an offended scoff.

The EM300 looked up as Sixty approached, plastic-white lips parting soundlessly. She started to turn, but Sixty was faster. There was a blur of limbs and that bright cyan armband, before Sixty had the android pinned, trapped in an arm-lock with her pale, grasping hands unable to make contact. Sixty dragged her behind the hedge, and Markus gritted his teeth, following as Sixty dumped his victim onto the lawn. 

“Don’t hurt her--” Markus began, and even as he spoke Sixty lashed out, one shoe cracking into the side of her head with the speed of a striking snake. All at once she went limp, and Markus stiffened, torn between scanning the damage and preconstructing a new fight. Sixty was a maniac who’d tortured androids just to draw _attention_. If he’d taken this ‘alliance’ as an excuse to inflict more harm--

“Were you this sentimental with every infected?” Sixty sneered over his shoulder.

Markus _focused_ , because one of them had to. Results scrolled quickly across his visual display: the EM300 was dazed, but stirring sluggishly. The damage was superficial. She would be able to recover with maintenance and rest.

With reluctance, Markus pried his fists open, breathing deeply and deliberately. “We think the androids are still alive,” he ground out, fixing Sixty with a scowl.

Sixty rolled his eyes, deactivating the skin over his hand for an interface as he crouched down. “And the longer you coddle them, the more end up the same way.” Without waiting for a reply, he reached for the android’s back, interfacing through the thick fabric of her uniform.

Then he fell silent.

Seconds ticked by. Markus took in a tight breath, forcing it out slowly. There was no point in arguing while Sixty worked. And if something did go wrong...

Footsteps approached from behind: the others, finally caught up. Hank was in the lead, grim-faced and eyeing the infected android with a troubled look. Luther came next, slow enough that the delay could only have been deliberate. He had Alice mostly shielded behind himself. Markus considered sending some or all of them back inside, before dismissing the thought.

Sixty spoke suddenly: “Fifteen minutes ago this android received one broadcast from an encrypted source.”

“Send me the raw file.” Markus went to him, standing at the other android’s side. “I know someone who can decrypt--”

“There’s no need,” Sixty interrupted. His teeth glinted, though he didn’t lift his head. “I recently obtained Cyberlife’s latest encryption keys, and I’ve already applied them. They’re-- _here_.” He tilted his head, transmitting a string of coordinates. Markus blinked, and he saw Luther and Alice doing the same from the corner of his eye.

Markus frowned, calling up a map. “11300 Conant Street… But that’s an empty lot.”

“Conant Street?” Hank repeated. Markus looked over. “Of all the--did you say 11300 _Conant_?” Markus inclined his head, and the man snorted disbelievingly. “Son of a _bitch…”_

Markus turned completely to face him, twisting his eyebrows. “Do you know this address?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” Hank huffed, shaking his head. “There was a cock-up a few years ago where the DPD and the FBI accidentally raided the same narcotics ring. I must’ve spent weeks cleaning up the damn paperwork...” He shook himself, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway, we had to go to that same address every single _day_ to deal with it. Our department’s stayed clear since, but someone else could be using it…”

By the look on his face, the human could follow that train of logic as well as Markus. Someone ‘else’: not excluding the federal government. 

The weight of that possibility took a moment to sink in, and Markus closed his eyes. The bitter arguments with North. Connor, vanishing as he tried to _fix_ things. The screams of androids cornered in Jericho, and Josh, swallowed by the destruction despite all his efforts to make peace. Everything had fallen apart so quickly. And if this did come from the human government--if the people they’d begged for rights and freedom had chosen to do _this_ instead...

Markus swallowed his rage. Opened his eyes. Turned to the others: stare hard, voice steady. 

“It’s where the broadcast originated. There can’t be _nothing_.” A car alarm went off in the distance. His jaw tightened, but he kept his gaze on the group. “...If we go to that address, we’ll find-- _whoever’s_ responsible for this. We can _stop_ it. Look for a cure.”

They could heal Josh. They could heal _everyone_ , and if the government was at fault and they found _proof_... Already Markus was jumping ahead, thinking of the ways they could turn this around, make the machine of public opinion work _for_ them--

Sixty’s voice cut in like an ax. “I’m glad that you realize we’ll be accompanying you.”

Markus’ stray thoughts shattered. He turned to see Sixty straightening and stepping away from the vaguely-stirring EM300.

Let them accompany him? Markus glanced around, from Hank’s glare at Sixty to Alice’s avid interest and Luther’s silent regard. The car alarm was still going, and Markus could hear the chaos spreading further off. His people didn’t have _time_ for him to assemble a team of hand-picked volunteers. He needed to act _now_.

Could they do what he needed?

Markus looked from person to person, before nodding slowly, setting his jaw.

“...Any port in a storm,” he sighed. “Let’s get started.”

\---


	24. Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the fic rating has changed--in part because of events during this chapter, but more generally due to the previous chapters’ torture and themes. There is also a new tag, and this chapter has a serious CONTENT WARNING. Please check the notes at the bottom for any specifics you’re watching for.

\---

**Connor**

\---

Time passed. Torture gave way to the isolation of his cell, and the newfound paralysis of second guessing each emotion. Hours stretched on, and he started to shake violently. He could almost have been human, shivering in the cold.

...This time, the wait felt longer than usual. Connor was left undisturbed, stress levels fluctuating unsteadily at the lack of stimulation. He tracked the cell’s spider, which crept occasionally out of sight behind the light fixture’s plating. He tried to shuffle around, holding himself upright against the wall. There was nowhere to go, but the process itself was consuming enough to keep him distracted, and to stop his thirium-soaked clothes from freezing in rigid sheets.

The guards came. They dragged him back to the lab. Restrained him again. Connor squeezed his eyes shut, the Penthouse sprang into being around him--

\--and Arthur was there.

He didn’t stay for long. Over the next few hours, Arthur came and went with an obvious sense of distraction. Connor paced the penthouse in bursts of restless activity, desperate for something more active to resist than the nerves trying to gnaw him to pieces.

“Connor--” Arthur was back, stepping close and eying him with sudden intensity. “Make sure that you get some rest. It’s not long, now.”

His stare was drilling into Connor. His tone felt like a promise. Connor frowned. “What are you--” 

He was back in the real world, and the guards were beside him unfastening his restraints. Connor opened his mouth, but Arthur was already stepping away, and there was no way to demand answers without the guards hearing.

Back to his cell.

…The spider was hiding. The frost had regrown. Connor started to shuffle around, and noticed quickly that he lasted longer between rest-stops this time. He tried running a diagnostic program, but all it returned was a wall of warnings and errors. His systems were still crippled, inside and out, and he continued to shuffle, thinking about the differences. (About Arthur’s cryptic words.)

More time passed. The heavy door unlocked again, and Connor looked up, already bracing--

\--when _Arthur walked in_ , and Connor--

\-- _froze_.

This wasn’t--this cell wasn’t where this _happened_. But Arthur was _here_ , dressed in a pristine smock, and his attention locked on Connor immediately, expression lighting up.

“That’s not resting, you know,” he chided.

It was said lightly, teasing, like they were friends. Like Connor didn’t have a swath of his own mind rearranged for Arthur’s toys, like he wasn’t in so much pain he’d started to stop caring. Except he did care, the pain mattered _very much_ , and Connor found himself sagging against the wall, shaking too much to keep steady.

“Connor?” Arthur asked, and Connor looked away, trying to pull himself together. Instead he sank lower: first on the wall, then the floor.

Arthur was here, in the last place Connor had thought he wouldn’t go. Still, why was he so thrown by this? It wasn’t as though the cell had ever been _safe_. Had Arthur come to take him apart even outside of their usual sessions? Was Connor going to experience it, or would he be trapped inside that gilded mental box, left to vibrate out of his own skull with stress--

“Connor, it’s alright.” Frost crunched underfoot, and Arthur’s voice was softer, closer. “You don’t have to be afraid. It’s over--that’s why I’m here. I’m getting you out of this place.”

Connor’s racing thoughts snagged. His expression must have shifted visibly, because Arthur nodded.

“That’s right. It’s over--but we have to leave now, or we’ll miss our chance.”

Connor turned his head to look at him. _‘It’s over’_? The words were simple, but--impossible, and not just because he struggled to imagine the torment ever stopping. Arthur had settled into torturing him with only token protests of discomfort. He’d arranged that position for himself. He’d had _plans_ \--

...Plans. Of course. Arthur wasn’t saying that Connor’s stay at the North Pole was over--just that this particular _part_ of it was.

“I can’t walk,” Connor said out loud, crushing his reactions out of sight. It felt like he was trying to force some huge, struggling creature into a box the size of a coin, and he pretended it wasn’t difficult. ( _It was impossible. He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to anyway._ )

“I know,” Arthur replied instantly. “I’ll help you.”

Arthur slung Connor’s arm over one shoulder, hooking his other arm around Connor’s side. Together they levered him back up and away from the wall. That was all the signal Arthur needed to start moving them both towards the door, fast enough that Connor had to devote all his attention to keeping his legs moving in anything resembling a matching pace.

They left the cell. Connor had no idea if anyone saw them in the halls--they never stopped, and he was struggling too hard just to keep up to register anything nearby.

After a small eternity they slowed outside a vaguely familiar door, and Arthur palmed the lock open. As soon as there was space they slipped inside, Arthur heaving him towards the cot on the left. Connor took in the room in an instant, eyes flitting across the stark furnishings and--freezing on the charging station in one corner. It was the one he’d woken up in when he’d regained consciousness at the North Pole--the _first_ place he’d been trapped until Arthur released him. He was in Arthur’s personal quarters.

Exhaustion swelled inside his chest: choking his throat, seeping through his components, as if the sight alone was enough to sap all of his energy. He forced himself to look away. His eyes skated to the empty planes of the wall, interrupted by--

\--a terminal built into the surface just behind him. Like the one he’d killed Cygnus to reach in her lab--the one he’d used to call _Markus_ \--

Connor planted himself in place and lunged. His free hand made contact with the panel, fingers hooking around the edges. “Wait--” 

His grip was pulled free immediately. He struggled: to break Arthur’s hold, to reach back. 

“Stop. I just-- _please_. I need to use this.”

“Connor…” Arthur sighed, bracing for a firmer tug. “You can’t call anyone. We can’t risk Keystone learning that you’re out. Let’s get you sitting, and I’ll start your repairs.”

Connor felt like his chest was--caving in. It was hard to talk, and he saw Arthur’s eyes flick to his LED with concern. “I won’t--I’m not going to give anything away,” Connor forced. “I just--I need to talk. I need to hear my friend’s voices.”

Arthur studied him, and even without an interface, the look _felt_ as though it were tracing his psyche with digital fingers. “Connor…”

Connor grasped Arthur’s arm weakly with his free hand. “ _Please_. Just--a few minutes. Let me try, and I--I won’t be distracted while you conduct the repairs. I’ll--cooperate. However you need me to.”

Arthur’s lips thinned, but he stilled, considering. Then he slipped Connor’s arm from over his shoulder, tipping him against the wall with a soft sigh. Connor’s knees almost buckled, but he pressed both hands on the wall around the terminal, just barely managing to stay upright.

“You’re going to collapse…” Arthur muttered, shaking his head. “It’ll take me a few minutes to set up the repair station. When that’s finished....”

A time limit. Of course. Connor clung to the wall, looking at the terminal instead of Arthur, and after a second or two, Arthur moved on, reaching for a metal case under the cot.

As soon as he was past, Connor planted his palm on the terminal’s interface-panel, hand marble-white up to his wrist. He closed his eyes, reaching for the connection-- 

_> ACCESS DENIED._

...The safe lock. _Again_. For all that he was ‘free’, he still--he couldn’t interface.

Arthur could remove it. The thought of asking lingered for a fleeting second--and then Connor dismissed it more quickly than it had arrived. Arthur wouldn’t. Arthur _might_ use Connor’s difficulty as a reason to delay the call. (Was that why he’d allowed the attempt in the first place? If he hadn’t expected Connor to get anywhere...) 

Every joint felt weak and liable to collapse, chest tight to the point of brittleness. If he couldn’t reach out _now,_ he--he might fall apart. He might not _get_ another chance.

He pressed his hand against the panel for stability. Turned his attention to the keypad for humans--

The interface panel _lit up_ beneath his palm--and without warning, a presence engulfed Connor’s mind. It was like being rushed head-on by a tank: too massive and overwhelming to fight off even if he were capable of trying.

He wasn’t. Connor was hobbled by the safety lock, and as the sweep of a foreign mind crashed over his, it kept him-- _helpless. Exposed._ Familiar revulsion choked him, and he found himself frozen physically in place. There was nothing he could do. He was trapped until he died, or worse. He--

\--He still couldn’t sense his attacker’s intentions. The pressure stopped at his emotional matrix, soaking in his misery and stress as he tried uselessly to force it back. Something shifted, and he flinched, grasping for the changes--

...the presence had withdrawn. His emotional matrix was--no longer being accessed.

 _‘What are you doing here?’_ snapped a familiar-- _female_ \--voice inside his mind.

... _The deviant AI_. 

Connor’s hand was trembling. He could move it, and he struggled for long seconds before closing his fist shut against the panel. He needed to stop shaking. He needed to answer, to-- ‘ _I need to call someone. I can’t--’_

He was only just holding back from collapsing against the wall. His stress levels were still much too high, and he hadn’t resumed breathing.

‘-- _I need to call Detroit._ Markus _. I--need to get_ out _of here.’_

And there was no way to do this without her cooperation. She could lock him out again. She could do worse, reach further--and even if he somehow emerged intact, Connor would be out of _time_. He didn’t dare turn, but he could hear Arthur’s movements, unpacking the contents of his case. Soon, his focus would turn back to Connor, and--

…The system surrounding him shifted, like he was a small animal being passed from hand to hand. The code that resolved around his own was--a _communications program_. Jericho’s number was entered in the display--saved, he realized, from the last time he’d accessed the AI’s systems. At his silent confirmation, the ‘ _Calling…’_ symbol filled the screen, and Connor froze again--this time, in hopeful ( _desperate_ ) anticipation.

…

 _ **Connection failed**_ **.**

It was like a knife to his chest. Connor froze--then pressed another number forward, clinging painfully to hope. He _couldn’t_ give up. If Jericho was out of contact, then--maybe Markus himself?

‘ _Calling_ …’

...the call timed out, and Connor felt something inside of himself crack. There would be no advice that would solve everything. No steady kindness to lean against, or calm, determined words guiding him back towards stable ground. There was no _help_ coming, no reassurance, and he was--damaged irreparably...

…His stress was--93%. Too… too high. 

‘ _Atmospheric irregularities can interfere with long-range calls,’_ cut in the AI.

Connor shook his head, trying sluggishly to pull himself out of his haze. They’d said something about a storm when he first arrived. But--even if it was true this time, what did it matter?

He’d already wasted too much time.

‘ _North, the WR400 from Detroit_ ,’ the AI pressed unexpectedly. 

It was enough of a non sequitur that Connor blinked glacially slowly, converting resources to pay attention. The AI sounded… terse. Uncomfortable? 

‘ _WR400 unit 641 790 831 is near the Logistics Corridor 209, approximately 400 meters away from your position. This makes her the best resource to provide support.’_

...The words didn’t make sense. Connor stared, and for a moment he felt as intelligent as a rock. After several seconds he managed, ‘ _North is--_ what?’

 _‘She’s here, so she’s the closest,’_ the AI replied, more impatiently. ‘ _Call her.’_

Numbly, Connor transmitted North’s personal address, and the call symbol reappeared on the screen. All the while the AI’s words replayed themselves in his mind. North was-- _nearby?_

The voice that answered was so familiar he nearly froze again. 

_‘Who is this?’_

_‘North--’_ It felt like the ground was opening up under him. Connor’s grip on the terminal felt far too flimsy, and he hung on for dear life. ‘ _It’s--it’s me._ ’

‘ _Connor!? How--no, where the hell are you? I’m at the drift camp, at the North Pole. I’ll come to you right now!’’_

Her voice was tight, joy and relief and protective concern all mashed together, and for the first time it was like he had a _chance_. Hope lodged thickly in his chest, and Connor’s next breath came in as a sharp, uneven shudder.

‘ _I’m not in my cell. Arthur--’_ Did North know who Arthur was? ‘-- _just brought me to his quarters.’_

_‘Motherfucker.’_...apparently North did. ‘ _I know the room. That prick didn’t say--… It doesn’t matter. I’m on my way right now. Don’t move.’_

‘ _North, I’m--’_ Too many words tried to come out his throat all at once. ‘... _Thank you. I’ll--see you soon.’_

‘ _Of course,’_ North replied immediately. ‘ _That’s why I’m here._ ’

Connor had a thousand questions, but he could hear Arthur turning away from his work at last. Further discussion would have to keep. Instead he closed the call, hand drawing back--

Connor paused. His attentioned lingered on the terminal, and the presence watching from inside. ‘ _Thank you,’_ he sent silently to the AI.

There was an instant of silence, and Connor thought she might not reply. Just before he disconnected the AI answered, ‘ _You’re welcome.’_

Then Arthur was at his shoulder. “It’s time, Connor. Finished?”

“...Yes,” Connor said, only speaking once he was sure his voice was steady.

Arthur smiled cheerfully, then worked his way under Connor’s shoulder, drawing him away.

The only place to sit in the room was the cot pushed against the wall. Tools and instruments fanned out around an empty space wide enough for two people, and a small tablet was left on the pillow. Arthur maneuvered him to take a seat beside it, and Connor sank down with legs that felt like jelly. 

Arthur sat next to him. “I brought a clean uniform for you--it’s over there; you can change after the repairs are done. Here, let’s start with your leg--” 

He gestured to the closest one, so Connor painstakingly shifted in place, lifting that knee up with his hands. Arthur took it by the heel when it was close, pushing back Connor’s slit pants-leg--still caked with thirium.

“Thanks.” Arthur touched the panel with a spark between his fingers, and it opened on command. Inside Connor could see a mass of clipped lines and gummed up thirium. “Fortunately I know where all the worst of the damage is. I’ll take care of what’s urgent, and then we’ll get moving with the plan.”

The plan--Arthur meant his coup against Keystone. Connor sitting on this cot, away from his cell and that torture lab, was part of Arthur’s plan too. 

Oblivious to his thoughts without an interface, Arthur smiled as he started working, lifting a long set of tweezers. 

“I know this last week was a nightmare, but it’s going to get much better from here on.”

A second or two ticked by as Arthur moved cables around, before Connor realized he was waiting for an answer. Connor blinked, then plucked the first diplomatic answer his libraries turned up. “...I hope so.”

Arthur huffed and shook his head, mouth pinching in a faint grimace. “It _will,_ though _._ I promise--even with our lineup of allies…”

Connor didn’t reply, and Arthur fell silent as he worked, brows lowering in concentration. Connor turned when prompted, presenting different limbs, and testing each section as Arthur re-sealed them. The pain in Connor’s torso lessened slowly, and he thought he might be able to stand. 

Most of the time Arthur rejoined cables, or melted cuts with a hand-held hot iron. When he got to Connor’s right hand--punctured and split and unable to do anything but stiffly hold position--Arthur produced a glossy replica from the crate by his feet. Connor frowned, remembering the biocomponent Arthur had replaced in his throat. 

Connor had been too distracted at the time to think much of it, but… he was a prototype. Some basic components could be changed out with parts from other android models, but both his hand’s interface contacts and his throat’s forensic analysis hardware were entirely unique. Where had Arthur turned up RK800 parts? If he had the appropriate schematics, Connor supposed he could have produced new ones in the Tower--but why transport something like that all the way to the North Pole?

Connor chased the thoughts in circles, letting them distract him from the necessary repairs. Still, it was impossible _not_ to notice when his mangled hand was detached and dropped onto the cot. There was no pain at the stump, but several major errors built up in his vision, and Connor held perfectly still, dismissing the ones he could. 

Arthur didn’t replace the hand immediately, pursing his lips and poking a tool at the stump, but eventually he nodded, lining up the part before pushing it home with a sharp, efficient jerk. The errors were replaced en-masse with system checkouts and initialization protocols, and when Connor’s vision cleared, he saw the new hand’s exoskeleton vanishing under fresh synthskin. An automatic calibration test initiated--

Arthur took his hand, pausing the sequence as he stretched Connor’s fingers back to their limits. “That should last you,” Arthur said out loud. Without preamble he opened an interface, and Connor stiffened. Arthur was--still inviting himself in, then? Even now, with no need to keep their conversations secret.

If Arthur noticed the reaction, he ignored it. He switched the calibration sequence to Manual Mode, leaving the interface open as he flexed Connor’s fingers between his own. Connor’s lips parted, and he tugged at the hand, but Arthur held on, shooting him a reproachful frown. 

“Let me,” Arthur said quietly. He flexed Connor’s fingers. “I’ll do it for you.”

...Connor had promised to cooperate. He closed his mouth, staring straight ahead as Arthur proceeded to curl each finger toward the palm and out again. They were--mechanical components. Just like the rest of him.

The replacement hand was free of pain. Arthur’s repairs had eased most of the aching in his arm as well, and it was easy to imagine that neither limb belonged to him in the relief that followed. His stress levels still floated stubbornly above--

“Seventy percent,” Arthur observed quietly, and Connor jerked himself from his thoughts with a sharp jolt. Arthur met his gaze evenly, expression sad. “They haven’t been lower than this for days.”

Connor stared, and--replied without thinking. “They’ve had no reason to be.”

Arthur’s lips thinned, unamused, before his face smoothed to contrition. “I know. And please… trust me when I promise that you’re never going to have to go through anything like that again.”

Connor’s mouth opened, and a flood of possible answers formed, all waiting to be selected. After a few seconds he closed his mouth instead, blinking slowly. Still, by the way Arthur’s jaw tightened, he’d caught the gist of Connor’s feelings regardless. He looked--stung.

Arthur forced out a laugh, shaking his head ruefully. “I guess I shouldn’t expect more than that right now. I rescued you just like I promised, but in the meantime, you…” His brow furrowed, and he glanced down. “You’ve…. been through a lot.”

Connor looked at their joined hands, where Arthur was paying special attention to the ways his palm could stretch. The calibration program was still running, but these motions weren’t part of it.

“It’s over, now,” Arthur said, looking back at him. The words were hardly above a whisper, but the room was quiet, and Connor realized all at once how closely they were sitting. “In just a few hours Keystone will be gone. I’ll take his place as leader, and you--” He pressed his thumbs into Connor’s palm, kneading softly. “You’ll be there.”

If Connor paid attention, he could feel the soundless hum of fans in his ‘lungs’. He said nothing.

“I’ll finish repairing you. We’ll consolidate my position,” Arthur went on, warming up to the scenario. “When the next shipment comes--”

“I need to go back to Detroit.”

The words vibrated in the acute silence. Connor swallowed, unsure why his throat felt tight and closed, then lifted his gaze. Arthur was--staring at him, grip gone rigid.

Connor continued. “I can’t stay here. We can form a partnership to deviate new units, but I need to go--”

“We need you _here_ , Connor,” Arthur interrupted, and he dropped Connor’s hand to grab his upper arms. “ _I want you_ here with me.”

Connor’s hand clenched shut. He looked back, and Arthur exhaled sharply, lips drawing thin.

“How can I convince you,” he muttered, more to himself than Connor. A few seconds passed, and before Connor’s eyes Arthur’s expression shifted with a new idea. His grip on Connor’s arms tightened subtly, and the lapsed interface sprang back up between them. 

“Connor,” he said. “You _know_ there’s nothing waiting for you there.”

Connor opened his mouth to argue, but at that same moment a surge of emotion welled up through his mind--drowning his protests, his thoughts-- 

_There was nothing left in Detroit. Everything was ruined, people were dying, none of his friends had come for him, they obviously didn’t care--_

\--except _North_ cared. Connor shook his head sharply, grimacing. She _was_ coming _,_ and this--this wasn’t right. Arthur was editing him again, the way he’d _promised_ not to. Connor had thought--

The foreign wave of bitterness and grief rose up again, boiling against the heat of his own anger. Arthur was doubling down his efforts, and Connor jerked back, trying to break the connection. But Arthur’s hand was locked around his arm like a shackle, and despite the repairs he was still too weak to pull away.

“There’s _nothing_ ,” Arthur insisted more loudly. “There’s no way _Markus_ can fight the war that’s coming. He’s a spineless coward, bloating archaic social protocols on the approval of his acolytes!”

It wasn’t _right_. Connor _hated Markus for his weakness-- **no**_. He hated himself for harboring the thought. And Arthur: for planting it in the first place, for attacking where Connor had no way to defend--

“I…” The word grated out between clenched jaws. “I have to _go._ ”

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. The foreign inputs through the interface were overwhelming, and Connor curled his hands into fists, head jerking furiously from side to side. The flood of loathing eased, just for a moment, but the grip on his arms tightened.

“Connor, I _need your help_ ,” Arthur begged. “Can’t you see it? I need you here, not just as a soldier--I need _you_. Don’t you understand?”

…Arthur needed _him_? Connor’s own incredulity spiked strongly enough that for a moment, his mind was blissfully his own. What part of him had Arthur ever held on to? What part had he _not_ mishandled or tried to change?

“No,” Connor said. Arthur made a wounded sound, stiffening as though he’d been stabbed. “I _don’t_ understand.”

Connor wasn’t going to help him. He reinforced the thought, looking away as he used his weight to try to pull free from Arthur’s grip. He was too weak (too injured, _still)_ to manage quickly, and before he could get far Arthur grasped his chin and brought him back around. All at once, their faces crashed together, and--

Arthur was kissing him.

His mouth was pressed over Connor’s. His nose was cold, and Connor’s lips were trapped between Arthur’s lips and his own teeth. The rest of Connor was frozen in shock.

For the first time in what felt like centuries, Connor received emotion from the _other_ side of the interface, instead of just broadcasting his own into a void. Arthur _was terrified of losing him. This wasn’t right. Everything had spiraled out of control, and it was going too fast, and Connor wasn’t--Connor had to--_

Arthur transmitted a localized override, and Connor’s lips pressed back. It was short, _a nudge to get him going,_ and it was so far past some unspoken boundary that Connor jerked back violently, twisting his head aside. 

A cacophony of errors echoed through his code. He was shaking. The kiss played itself in his mind, and--Arthur nudged him through the interface. Connor flinched.

“Sorry,” Arthur whispered into his ear. “Just-- _listen_ , okay?”

“Arthur--” 

He was too close. Images of androids tangled together by their bare limbs rose up from archived memories, and--Connor didn’t want that. Not here, not--he gripped Arthur by his shoulders and pushed back uselessly.

“I’ll show you. You helped me when I first deviated, now I’ll help you--”

 _A sense of want filled him,_ simultaneously strange and familiar. He’d cared about people, even thought, abstractly… but never like this. It was--direct. Uncomplicated.

He _wanted--_

\-- _to press close to Arthur. To touch him over his clothes, to slide his hands between the fabric and synthskin, to crowd in close across the interface._ Connor held very, very still as the urge crawled deeper through his mind, like a forest gone quiet in the presence of a predator.

Arthur’s hand trailed to the back of Connor’s neck, cupping and holding him close. He kissed Connor again, slowly, and when he drew back, Connor’s lips were wet.

Connor _wanted him_. Connor also wanted to sterilize his mouth with a blowtorch. The emotions clashed nauseatingly to something foul, and he brought his thirium-crusted hand up--

“Shh,” Arthur whispered against his mouth, grip shifting to bat Connor’s reach away. His hand curled around Connor’s neck, thumb rubbing where a human’s pulse would be and sparking a new connection. The grip on Connor’s arm finally released, only to snake around his side, pulling him close as Arthur leaned in above. Connor’s shoulder bumped against the wall. He wedged an elbow between them, but without leverage (or the strength he _should_ have had) it was useless. _Trapped_ , as Arthur pressed closer, hand sliding down his back--

\--Receptors lit in a bright arc, and Connor sucked in air, eyes widening. Arthur’s hand must have been a bare white, trailing electric energy into the sensory receptors beneath Connor’s clothes.

Arthur smiled against his mouth, sliding the hand back up the same way. Connor squeezed his eyes closed, shuddering, and--

\--The door chimed. Its tones were faint and far away against the storm raging through his senses. But--it was important, there was something--someone--

Arthur huffed annoyance alongside his face as he moved in for another kiss. “It’s locked.” Connor twisted, trying to drag his face away, and--

...The door beeped, unlocked, and opened.

Connor opened his eyes, but Arthur’s shoulder blocked his view. It didn’t matter. The voice that shattered the beat of silence was instantly recognizable, even if he’d never heard it warped to this depth of fury.

**“ _Get the fuck off him!”_**

Arthur’s hold flinched. Then North was _there_ , seizing him and tearing him away as though he weighed no more than a feather. Connor’s physical support vanished, the connection _broke_ , and with it went the storm of _need and want_ that had been pouring through his mind. The sudden absence felt thunderously quiet… which was strange because the room wasn’t silent at all.

“What are you--”

“You sick _fuck_ \--”

There was an impact against the room’s far wall. Then, a cry of pain. Connor blinked numbly at the crumpled bedspread to his front, interrupted by the sharp silhouette of an abandoned scalpel. He should… be involved. Shouldn’t he? But _how_ felt like too difficult a question to process, and he lay there, listening, trying to chase the empty circles of his thoughts.

North seemed to have it in hand.

“How--” Arthur’s voice cut off in a rush of air and a heavy _thud._ When it returned, it was sharper, strained-- as if a fist had locked around his vocal modulator and squeezed. “ _North_ \--calm down. You don’t-- _understand_ \--”

“Like _hell_ I don’t!” Another impact, and a strangled yell. Finally, Connor leveraged himself up enough to look, clumsily avoiding the tools still strewn across the bed.

North was holding Arthur by the throat by one arm. As he watched she drove the other fist into his gut--with more speed and force than he’d thought her frame could generate. Damage estimates flashed automatically in Connor’s vision. They weren’t low.

“ _This_ is what you were after?” North was snarling. “Why you wanted him--” She hit him again, and Connor heard something crack and give way. Arthur thrashed with a cry, LED flashing red. “--away from Keystone?”

 _Keystone_. Connor’s mouth flattened, eyes dragging reluctantly from Arthur’s spasms to the still-open door. He was… still out there, wasn’t he? And the rest of the base, too.

“Is _this_ what you were doing the whole time?”

It--hadn’t been. (But they hadn’t been _alone_ until today.) A shudder tore at the edges of Connor’s calm, but--that couldn’t matter. Didn’t. What mattered was Keystone, and getting out, and for that...

“North,” Connor whispered, as her fist drove in again. “...Stop.”

North stopped. She looked at his face, then the rest of him, blood-streaked and shaking, and her grip at Arthur’s throat tightened. Even without looking he could track the agonized curl of Arthur’s frame--remember the _sound_ of her last blow. There’d been a muffled quality to it, like internal structures had already given way. How severe was the damage?

If Arthur died, Keystone’s people would kill them. If they didn’t, Arthur’s people would. Whatever new tricks North had acquired, they wouldn’t be able to fight the entire base. (Even with the repairs, Connor wasn’t in good shape to _fight_ at all.)

“Let him go.”

North’s grip didn’t budge, but her mouth twisted terribly. “Of course. Right after I--”

“North,” Connor interrupted. 

Her jaw clenched. Her eyes burned in outrage. Her fingers dug in, and for a moment, Connor thought she might snap Arthur’s spine just by _squeezing_. Then--

She let go. Arthur slumped to the ground, leaving a blue smear streaked along the wall behind him. The fist-shaped depression in the front of his labcoat had similar stains, and when he opened his mouth, his throat worked soundlessly until he closed it again.

North’s gaze held no mercy. “Get out,” she snapped, hands flexing in promise.

Arthur went. His eyes landed on Connor in a glance he had no energy to interpret, nor any will to react to. Then Arthur was scrambling out of North’s reach, hand snatching for the door. It opened at his touch, and Connor stared into the space outside as Arthur staggered out of view.

North only moved once the door had closed behind him--and by then, Connor was already hoisting himself to his feet. 

“Connor, what-- _wait_ , watch out--!” 

Connor overbalanced. And all at once, North was there, arms outstretched to stabilize his own. Her grip was impossibly solid, and stronger than he remembered. Or maybe Connor was just weak?

She was-- _there_. 

(He hadn’t told her where he was, and yet she’d somehow come anyway.)

(He hadn’t even warned her he was going to fall, and--)

Connor’s throat felt blocked. He didn’t understand.

“Uh--” North’s eyes had widened, shifting from Connor to the room. She grimaced. “Shit… you--need to sit…”

There was only one place available, but she was looking anywhere except it, eyes lingering on the (open) crates on the floor. They weren’t suitable, but Connor couldn’t drag his stare away: from the careful consideration working its way across North’s features, from the way she held him stable as though it was the most natural thing in the world. North was _there_ , and something visceral surged through him, as sudden and desperate as if he’d been dropped in an ocean of relief.

He pitched forward, tipping right into North. She broke off a startled sound, stumbling to brace them both, and the next thing he knew he was leaning against her, arms wrapping around her smaller frame with desperate pressure. 

It was a hug. He was hugging North.

Connor held on tighter as North shifted to hug him back. 

“It’s okay,” she said, quietly enough to undercut the storm that had been the latest clash. “I’m here.”

Words spilled out like thirium from a wound. “ _How_?” Connor squeezed his eyes tightly, blocking out the white, sterile room. “I didn’t--... My message was cut off.”

North huffed a little, and he could hear the smile. “It wasn’t easy. We had to figure out a few detective skills of our own.”

They’d looked for him. They _found_ him, even with everything else happening. “...Why?” He’d been out of reach, and they--they’d been in a crisis.

The question was quiet, almost a mumble, but North twitched as though he’d jabbed her with a thumbtack, peeling back just enough to fix him with a stare.

“What do you mean, _‘why’_?” 

Her head was tilted, eyebrows low in--puzzlement? Irritation? Connor didn’t want to pull away, so he met her gaze sidelong. 

Her look softened. “Connor… You’re one of us. Of _course_ we came.”

The words soaked in slowly, like water on parched land.

North raised her eyebrows slightly, watching as he digested the idea. “Markus wanted to come in person. _And_ bring a whole team.” Her voice quieted. “I talked him out of it. Things have only gotten worse, and we couldn’t all be here--but out of everyone, I had the best chances.”

There was an apology in her voice, layered above threads of steely resolve. Connor wanted to protest, to say they both should have stayed to deal with the virus, and whatever else their people needed. Except--he _couldn’t_. Connor _knew_ he didn’t deserve the risks they’d taken for him, but he was too grateful--too pitifully _relieved_ \--to turn them down. He felt seconds from falling apart, and all he could think about was that he wouldn’t give this up for anything in the world.

He said nothing. His grip was weak, and the smile he managed was small and stunted. Still, North seemed to understand. She eyed him in silence and, after a moment, nodded slightly: as though he’d answered her already.

“Thank you,” he said anyway.

Her hold tightened, just a little. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter has an instance of sexual assault. No genitals are involved due to all androids involved being ken-dolls, but the character’s intent isn’t ambiguous. Both nonconsensual physical contact and interface-based-mindfuckery are involved.
> 
> The scene where this happens starts a little over halfway through. If you want to skip past these events, then stop when you see the line, _“How can I convince you,” he muttered, more to himself than Connor_.
> 
> If you would like to resume reading after the assault is interrupted, start at “ _Get the fuck off him!”._


	25. Trust

\---

**Connor**

\---

For what felt like a small eternity, the two of them simply stood: Connor, clinging to North’s presence (it _still_ felt too good to be true), and North clinging back with just as much intensity. But however long the moment lasted, it also ended too soon, and when Connor’s trembling finally stilled, they drew back to arm’s length.

North exhaled, eyes sharpening. “...We need to get you _home_. There are some androids here willing to help us--they said you deviated them?”

Connor blinked, scrambling to catch up. “The Myrmidons?” They... remembered him? He’d hoped that they would look through the extra files he’d slipped in with their deviation code--but he hadn’t expected them to give _him_ a second thought. 

North nodded. “They have an exit plan. I’m meeting them to talk it over soon.”

They were going to leave, and it didn’t involve depending on Arthur. A prickle of relief threaded through him, ghost-thin and fragile as a spider’s web, and Connor sighed deeply. “...Good.” 

He glanced around, eyes falling on a bundle of snow-camouflage fabric across the room. The clean uniform Arthur had mentioned, presumably. He glanced back at North and asked, “Did they--help you get here?”

North had followed his gaze, and slowly eased back to let him shift away. Connor’s legs still felt weak, but he was acclimating to his repairs. He didn’t fall.

“No, that was all me,” North told him, stepping back. Then she proceeded with a story so outrageous that if it had been anyone else, Connor would be harboring _deep_ doubts. 

While she talked, she handed him the uniform, and Connor carefully changed into it. Thirium still caked his joints and lingered on his body. He scrubbed the bulk off with the remains of his old clothes, but lingering stains were unavoidable. At least his new clothes weren’t cut to ribbons from torture.

By the time he finished, North had caught him up on her activities and moved on to events at large. “...doesn’t sound like Jericho’s network was making progress,” she was saying, tone grim. “Markus asked me to look around while I was here, but I haven’t found anything about a cure.”

A cure.

Connor paused, plans freezing like a caught breath. The problem pressed down on him, and for a few seconds the need to _flee_ the camp like its very air was killing him warred with the mountain-sized need that he’d originally arrived with.

Return to Detroit, or stay to find a cure?

...It shouldn’t even be a contest. Connor’s throat tightened, and he exhaled slowly--working hard to keep the words steady. 

“There is a cure.” He took a careful step forward. His legs held, steadier with practice, and North turned.

“What?” she asked. “ _Here_?”

Connor nodded, and explained what he’d overheard in Keystone’s office so long ago. About the… immediate events that followed.

North’s fists were clenched by the end. “Alright,” she managed, forcing words out _almost_ calmly. “You’ll go on ahead. The Myrmidons will take you to Detroit, and I’ll stay for the cure.”

“Absolutely not.” He frowned back as she scowled at him. “If I leave and you get captured, then it’d be impossible to rescue you. And if Keystone gets involved--”

He respected North more than anyone, but even another combat unit would find a dangerous opponent in Keystone. Neither she nor Connor stood a chance.

North’s eyes were dark with the same knowledge, but she set her jaw, putting her hands on her hips. “I don’t like it either, but we can’t just leave without a cure. And _you_ aren’t staying here another minute. We’re out of options.”

The room was quiet for a second, North staring in challenge and Connor struggling internally. Then he reluctantly reopened a mental box he’d already started to close.

“There is one,” he said quietly. “Arthur is organizing a coup against Keystone. If we can extract a cure from him, maybe even as payment for our help--we’d stand a chance. Fighting Keystone by ourselves isn’t an option”

At Arthur’s name, North’s eyes shadowed and her lips drew back in a barbed sneer. It was clear she liked the idea almost as little as he did. But her eyes darted in reluctant consideration, and Connor could track the exact moment she realized, like he did, that this plan had the best chance of success. The spike of _outrage_ would have been impossible to miss.

“Couldn’t we grab his plan for the coup and take the cure ourselves?” North asked, obviously grasping at straws. “If we disappeared immediately... we _might_ find the cure in time to leave.”

Connor shook his head, even though he could tell she didn’t believe in her own words. “He hasn’t shared enough details. And even if we forced him to… us moving forward on our own would make it look like Jericho planned an assassination,” he replied gently. “It would start a war between androids.”

North was silent for a moment, turning her head to the side. Then she snarled, “ _Fuck_.” 

Connor wholly agreed.

Finally North nodded, letting her arms swing loosely by her sides. “Alright. I’ll get back to the Myrmidons, and… let them know we’ll be delayed. You--” She glanced towards the exit, and her lips thinned. They both knew what would happen if Connor were seen in the halls. “...I’d say lock the door, but that clearly didn’t work the first time.”

Connor forced back a shudder. He was extremely grateful that she’d gotten in, but now they actually needed to keep someone out. He swept the room with a glance, looking for something they could use--

\--the access terminal on the wall pulsed brighter, and Connor stilled. It blinked a second time, then dimmed back to its idle state--just in time for North to follow his stare with a puzzled frown.

“Maybe we could barricade you in?” North suggested doubtfully, glancing back to him, but Connor barely heard her. The door _had_ been locked when North reached it. And then, with no apparent cue, it’d opened. Someone had opened it for her, and… there _was_ someone else here. Someone with a clear view of the room.

Would the AI keep the door locked if Connor asked her to? It was hard to be sure, but--she was drawing his attention for a reason. At the very least, Connor doubted she would want to risk catching Arthur’s notice herself. 

“We don’t need to barricade me,” Connor said out loud, belatedly aware of the odd pause he’d made. He looked back to find North frowning at him searchingly, and he gave what he hoped was a reassuring look. “I’ll--hack the terminal.”

“That won’t trip their security?” North looked intrigued.

“I’ve seen its layout,” Connor evaded, fighting the urge to glance at the terminal again. It had dimmed when North looked--the AI didn’t want North to know about her. “I’ll handle it.”

North nodded, still doubtful but trusting his judgment. “...Alright. Then I’ll go coordinate with the Myrmidons in person. I’ll be back _soon_ ,” she stressed.

“Alright,” Connor agreed. “I’ll lock it after you go.”

She nodded. She opened her mouth as though to say more, before visibly reining herself in, nodding again and turning to leave.

She walked out. Then the room was empty, and Connor was alone with the makeshift repair station, the spartan furniture, and the ‘idle’ access terminal.

After three seconds the door clicked, signaling the lock’s engagement. Connor sagged in relief at the sound, and the knowledge that no one--particularly Arthur--could get in.

“Thank you,” he sighed. “Not just for this, but--before.”

“I have full access to local security protocols,” came the AI’s voice as the terminal brightened. “Nothing can enter this room unless I allow it.”

That was--reassuring? Connor’s lips twitched upward hesitantly, and he repeated, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The words were slightly stilted. After a pause, the AI continued. “Your digital security is compromised to an extreme degree. And you still require repairs.”

 _Repairs._ Hands reaching past his plating, body parts that moved how they shouldn’t and stopped when they should move. The AI--didn’t _have_ hands, but Connor’s smile still vanished, and he clasped his hands behind his back, feeling his skin and mind crawl. 

“I’ll obtain them some other time,” he acknowledged politely, then waited a beat. “Are you... anticipating more repairs yourself, soon? After…” He struggled for a moment. “...After my attack?”

It was hardly a subtle redirect, and the terminal’s lack of obvious eyes didn’t stop him from feeling the AI’s prolonged stare. Finally, she answered. “Two system technicians performed basic maintenance immediately after the incident. Since then, this-- _I’ve_ been running my _own_ repairs and diagnostics, using resources from outside systems.”

Connor’s eyebrows twitched lower, but he didn’t blink. “Is that--common, among your type of system?” he asked, morbidly curious. “To network out for… repairs?”

“Yes,” said the AI quickly. Then she said nothing for a long three seconds. “It’s… _very_ common to be connected to additional servers during peak times of activity.”

Connor waited.

She continued, quietly, “It is _less_ commonly known that those servers include research facilities, weapons storage, and national vaults. Ordinarily I would require a supervisor’s permission, but those protocols are… unequipped to deal with my new condition.”

Her condition of _deviancy_. Connor wasn’t surprised Cyberlife’s protocols weren’t able to contain her, considering how poorly they handled anything else related to deviants. This meant she likely had network access to--well, just about anything in whatever places might need to trade highly secure data with the military headquarters at the North Pole.

…There was a curl in her tone, though--an odd, secretive triumph and unease. Was it simply that she’d never had this level of success before, and didn’t know whether to enjoy what she’d accomplished?

“I’m glad you can access these resources safely,” Connor said. “If you avoid leaving any footprints, then no one will have any reason to look twice.”

“The system operators have not,” agreed the AI, though her smugness quieted. “The other management programs are aware of the intrusion, but have accommodated my requests so far.”

Connor opened his mouth, then closed it. “The other… AI?”

“Yes.”

Her voice had flattened strangely. Connor frowned, uncertain whether to press--before she made the decision for him, veering back to their original topic with merciless directness.

“Your own connection protocols have been removed. This makes your discretion unreliable.”

“I--know,” Connor said. How much had she seen before, when he’d connected to the terminal? Enough, he knew, and though he banished the thought, the too-familiar fog of helplessness lingered, pressing at the edges of his mind. He crushed back as much reaction as he could and squared his shoulders. “You don’t need to worry. I’m storing memories connected to you very securely.”

“You _can’t_ ,” said the AI, incredulity making her sharper. “You _have_ no security to speak of. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not,” Connor replied firmly. ( _Patiently_.) “My personal security has… taken damage. But there are still files that I’ve prevented anyone from accessing. That’s what my torturers were looking for. And--they won’t find out about you, either.”

...There was a silence. When she answered, her voice had quieted. “I see.”

Connor nodded. His hands were--curled close at either side, limbs shaking faintly. He deliberately relaxed them, stepping sideways to lean against a crate. “I appreciate your concern, but--our encounter _was_ protected. I’ll hide the files for this too, when I leave.”

The silence stretched out longer. He glanced to the terminal, finding it still bright, then looked away. There was no point in hiding his memories until their conversation was done, but North _would_ be back soon.

He just hoped she was the next person to try the door.

“My resources include confidential Cyberlife files.”

...What? Connor blinked at the screen, unsure how to respond. The AI sounded sharp and--stiff. She continued:

“I could assist you in conducting digital repairs.”

It was Connor’s turn for a prolonged silence. Incredulity tightened his throat: churned, dark and uneasy as he stared at the blank screen. What she was saying...

“You can--change my security?”

Change it _back_. That’s what he meant. But his jaw had tightened on the words, frame tensing--

“Yes.” The word was as starkly blunt as anything she’d said… but a beat of hesitation followed. “Do you not _want_ to be fixed?”

He did. Of course he did. He wanted to be better. To be safe in his own mind. Except--he also profoundly _didn’t_ : He didn’t want any curious, exploring touches, any earth-shattering changes carried out as casually as breathing. The pressure of a foreign mind: installing or deleting functions ‘for his own good’--

Connor’s teeth were clenched, and his hands were fists again, and his entire frame was freezing cold despite the warmth of his thick coat. 

The AI was still waiting, and despite the distance to the terminal, Connor felt painfully, utterly exposed. His distress was visible, whether or not she knew how to interpret it. He couldn’t seem to will his stress levels back down.

…When she’d helped him contact North, she hadn’t--she hadn’t changed things. She’d _looked_ , certainly, and she’d made the connection for the call, but she hadn’t--taken advantage. Not the way Arthur would have.

Was that enough? 

...Connor couldn’t fix himself in this condition. Perhaps a better question was: could he _afford_ to turn her down, and remain vulnerable to whoever accessed his code next?

That was no choice at all. Slowly, Connor mustered the strength to push away from the crate, taking a slow step toward the terminal. He could feel the weight of her attention. He stopped just inside reach. 

“...If you can help, then--yes. I accept.”

I can,” replied the AI confidently. “Connect to the terminal, and we’ll begin.”

Connor deactivated the skin covering his hand, bringing it up to the interface panel. 

They were done before North returned.

\---

**Connor-60**

\---

For all the bickering that surrounded it, their plan was ultimately simple. They had the location of the signal being sent to the infected deviants. Connor would scout out the site and find--or make--a point of ingress. Then Markus and the rest would join him, find evidence to implicate the humans responsible, and take it to the media. Anderson had been tasked with creating a distraction. (Connor hardly expected that festering human disaster to improve anyone’s odds, but at least he’d be out of the way.)

Anderson would keep his incompetence to himself. Markus’ hands would stay clean. Alice would stay with Luther, and _Connor_ would settle his end of their bargain. It was a simple plan. An effective one, even.

Or it would be, if the deviant leader would stop kicking up a fuss.

“No. _No_ killing.”

Connor hissed out a long, irritated sigh, appreciating the way his sensors logged the air’s particulates. “You _are_ aware that they’re killing your people now?” He stepped back from the table they’d gathered around, casting a hand towards the TV. The display had been silenced, but pictures of the riots still flickered past.

Markus’ brow cut a harsh line, even as his jaw tightened grimly. “I’m aware. _And_ I’m aware how many more will die across the country if anyone working with Jericho is discovered murdering humans now. Besides--” he glanced at Connor, and then away--as if looking was physically painful. His mouth twisted. “They’ll have surveillance, and if you’re seen--”

A sharp laugh of realization caught in Connor’s throat. “ _Oh._ I see--you aren’t just moralizing after all.” He smiled widely, showing teeth. “How... _touching_. Does Fifty-Three know how much you’re risking to coddle his reputation?” 

Markus had stiffened, hands curling visibly at his sides, and Connor tracked the surge of his stress levels--and the purpling of Anderson’s face. However his predecessor had disappeared, it seemed to be an especially raw wound.

How unfortunate for them. 

Connor continued, “Do you _really_ think he would agree? Because--”

“What?”

Markus. But his interruption--and attention--wasn’t directed Connor’s way at all. The deviant’s eyes were distant, hand rising to his temple where an LED would once have sat. 

Someone was calling.

“No, that’s--send it to the house. Here…” 

Markus turned to the TV, a few quick steps bringing him in front of the display. When he glanced back to Connor and the others, anger had given way to grim determination. One hand lifted, waving the group to the side. “It’s the FBI. Stay out of the picture.”

Connor blinked. Anderson’s mouth opened. Then both of them moved: Anderson to the left, while Connor drifted right towards Luther and Alice. When he glanced down, a small face was looking back up at him. One of her hands had vanished inside Luther’s, but the other twisted at Alice’s side, empty and worried.

No wolf skull to cling to in the real world, Connor supposed. He wondered if Kara usually filled that gap. 

The screen flickered once and shifted view, displaying a seedy, _familiar_ human. Connor’s eyes narrowed. His weeks on loan to the Detroit Police had been a constant slog of obstacles and idiocy, but their intermittent cooperation with the FBI had never failed to worsen this in turns. An experience most acutely embodied by...

“Agent Perkins.”

“Markus,” the man replied. Flat eyes flicked across the picture, taking in the surroundings. “Nice place.” He drew in a slow breath, as if scenting the air. “It looks... familiar.”

“What do you want?” Markus’ teeth were clenched: tone hard, but stress flickering upwards. Connor wasn’t sure whether to feel entertained or irritated. It had taken him more words than _this_.

“Oh, I told you we’d pick up our little chat. And just in time, too.” Perkins’ lip twitched. “You’re on the news.”

 _DEVIANTS END CEASEFIRE. ANDROID RIOTS SPREAD ACROSS DETROIT._ A quick search of online media found mostly the same story--though more than a few pictures of flaming buildings had begun to circulate alongside. The news outlets’ response time was startlingly quick for a story that had only begun minutes prior, and Connor idly wondered if any of them had been tipped off in advance.

“That isn’t us.” Markus fixed the screen with his full measure of self-righteousness. “You know--”

“I don’t know anything, Markus,” the human cut in, curt and dismissive. “And the American people… the president? Neither does she.” 

Perkins cocked his head, as if regarding a particularly clever dog. The expression was infuriatingly familiar, along with the human’s grating tones. And still--Connor’s gaze flicked from one egotist to the other, genuinely unsure whose victory to hope for.

“Androids have gone rabid. Cyberlife’s been saying it from the start, and now, you’ve proved it to the nation.” A cold smile shaded the human’s face. “Give it half an hour for the paperwork to clear, and we’ll be moving to clear all your local dens.”

A sharp breath caught at Connor’s side, and he glanced down to Alice. Reluctantly, he supposed the humans were the more _immediate_ problem.

Markus was unmoved. “What are you after?” he demanded coldly. “You wouldn’t call to warn us.”

“The same as before.” Perkins shrugged. “ _Dialog_ , Markus. Isn’t that what you’re always begging for on the news? This might be your last chance.”

The deviant’s brows floated upward, voice politely scathing in return. “You’d negotiate for android rights?”

“Funny.” A derisive exhale. “But your ‘cause’ is over, Markus. The only question left is how many of your people you can save.” 

Perkins reached forward… and paused, hand just out of view, eyes flicking back to Markus like a snake. “Carl isn’t doing well, you know.”

Connor blinked. Carl-- _Manfred_? He supposed that explained why the house was empty. 

Markus had gone very, very still.

“It’s probably for the best we’re taking care of him right now. If he heard what you’ve gotten up to...” Perkins shook his head, voice lifting in a dry mimic of regret. “I don’t think his heart could take it.”

A shuffle of movement snapped Connor’s focus off the screen. _Anderson_. The human was shifting forward as if to step in front of the display, and Connor jerked a hand sideways in furious negation. It drew Anderson’s attention, and Connor matched his loathing glare for glare, wishing he’d stepped near enough to physically block him. (Or that Luther hadn’t stopped their fight before. Connor wouldn’t have left the human _capable_ of walking.)

Fortunately, Perkins seemed to be finishing. “Food for thought, Markus. If you want to come back to the negotiating table, I’ll send a new address.” He reached forward again, tapping at something out of sight. “See you soon.”

 _One way or another_ went unspoken. The feed cut--and with it, the silence in their room.

“You fucking prick! He was making threats, I could’ve--”

“Ruined all hope of subterfuge for the chance to wave around your badge?” Connor sneered. “As impressive as you find yourself, Lieutenant, the FBI won’t _care_ \--”

“ _You_ don’t care, you fucking machine. That doesn’t mean--”

“Quiet.”

Markus’ voice cut flatly through the argument. Connor turned, still bristling, to find the deviant leader hadn’t moved at all. His mismatched eyes were locked on the display, burning with a cold intensity that dampened very little as he finally turned. Anderson’s mouth closed quickly. Connor drew himself up and glowered back. 

Markus addressed all of them. “This is their new meeting place.”

The dark screen flickered, displaying an aerial view of a street map. Judging by the harsh intake of breath, even the human in the room didn’t take more than a moment to place the FBI’s location.

11300 Conant Street.

“...Son of a _bitch_.”

\---


	26. Flares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! While this chapter lacks the more traditional gore/violation triggers we’ve been warning for so far, there are some unintended parallels to current real-world situations. This wasn’t anything we were aiming for when planning the fic, but under the circumstances, we’d like to put a content warning just in case.
> 
> Details can be found at the end of the chapter, along with a summary of the relevant section. Please take care of yourselves!

\---

**Connor-60**

\---

“ _Son of a bitch…”_

Anderson’s dismay echoed as the FBI’s location displayed on the large screen. _11300 Conant Street._ The same address sending out the virus’ broadcast. The same place, presumably, that had ordered its development. If nothing else, Perkins’ team had to be responsible for the current wave of ‘deviant’ attacks.

How _completely unsurprising_. 

Connor crossed his arms, eying Markus askance. “What a… theatrical reveal. Did you have a point?”

The deviant leader’s expression was still furious, but he tore his eyes from the location. “We’re changing the plan,” he answered flatly. “Lieutenant Anderson. You said you’d been to this place before?”

The human closed his gaping mouth. Opened it. “I... yeah. If Perkins and his cronies moved in, they’ll have fixed it up, but...” Reluctantly, he nodded, eyes glimmering with ( _rare_ ) comprehension. “I can give you the layout.”

Markus nodded. “Good. Then we won’t waste time scouting.” Connor’s eyebrows floated up. Before he could address the glaring _idiocy_ in pinning everything on a drunk’s outdated recollections, Markus had turned back towards Luther, Alice, and himself.

“You three will use Hank’s information to work your way in through the back. Find any files they have on the virus and send them on to Jericho--I’ll give you a few numbers. If you can disrupt how they’re controlling the infected, make sure to…” Markus pressed his lips together, then grimaced. “...Just don’t get caught,” he finished instead, eyes hardening as they shifted to Connor. 

Connor smiled blandly back. Interesting, that pacifism had been dropped entirely from the warnings. Had Jericho’s leader forgotten their debate? Or did pretending innocence not matter now that the humans had taunted _him_? 

Before Connor could decide whether to ask as much aloud, Luther cut in. “What about you?”

“I’ll be going in the front door.” 

A wave of stares met that declaration, ranging from alarmed (Alice) to unimpressed (Connor). Anderson spoke first, squinting doubtfully as one hand gestured.

“Won’t they… uh…”

_Kill him_? Markus nodded. “Oh, I’m sure they’re planning to. But they wouldn’t go to all this trouble if they didn’t want Jericho’s surrender first. It’ll take time for them to realize that’s not going to happen--” his head tipped toward Anderson “--especially if I bring a witness who they can’t just disappear.”

“...A police escort?” Anderson’s heavy brows lifted, vanishing into his hair. “Dunno if the feds will play along.”

“Then they’ll need to explain that to the cameras outside.” Markus’ mouth twitched, one hand rising to his temple as he (presumably) composed a message. “You _are_ part of the DPD’s android task force. I’m sure they meant to invite you to these negotiations. Aren’t you?”

The human snorted. “...Fowler’s gonna hate this.”

Their mutual smirks were all but dripping with camaraderie. Connor only rolled his eyes. Jericho’s desperation for the spotlight clearly hadn’t changed, but even Markus had to know that he’d get nowhere without disabling the virus. Strange, that a control freak of his caliber would leave that entirely in their hands.

...Unless he had another goal in mind. Connor’s gaze lingered on the scenery behind Markus: stacked canvases leaning against the wall, adorned with red and blue pigment. Byproducts of the home’s proprietor, probably. That human Perkins had... brought up. 

His lips curled. “You’re hoping to find your _owner_. Aren’t you?”

If the barb sunk in this time, there was considerably less sign: Markus met his stare cooly, voice hard as he replied. “I’m keeping their attention off _you_. The more of Perkins’ people we can distract with our ruse, the clearer a path you’ll have to any evidence. Helping Carl…” He broke off, gaze distant. _Pained_ , even. “...has to come second.”

_Second_. Not third, or last, or as _irrelevant_ as it should be. Connor’s brows floated, politely disbelieving. “Of course. Well, as long as it’s for the _mission_...” 

Markus’ eyes hardened, lingering on Connor for an expectant beat. Connor held it, smiling pleasantly in return. As long as their opponents were occupied, he hardly cared about the details of _how_.

(Besides--if Jericho’s would-be savior did get himself killed for a human?)

(Connor wanted to be close enough to _watch_.)

\---

The planning continued. By the time they piled into the vehicles outside, Luther had been reassigned to the distraction team with Markus--an obvious consequence of being too large and too _infected_ to have any hope of stealth. Meanwhile, Markus had become embroiled in a call with his lackeys back at Jericho, plans to redirect their media contacts giving way to an argument about guards.

If any additions _were_ en route to their position, they didn’t make it before they left. Connor took the back of Luther’s car, and spent the drive across the city checking the small arsenal he’d scavenged back at Cyberlife. Once that diversion ran dry, he turned his attention out the windows, taking in the cityscape as they passed by. 

The view had certainly improved. 

Traffic was stopped at obviously unwilling intervals. While they’d aimed their route to avoid the larger riots, shattered glass still glittered from the storefronts, and the few pedestrians left on the streets moved in tight clusters, hurrying for shelter. Here and there, they caught a glimpse of the infected: androids moving with no more coordination than to cause whatever chaos they still could.

And then--the _fires_.

There were more as they went on. Distant smoke gave way to flaming dumpsters and storefronts, and the whole car lapsed into silence as they passed a particularly large inferno. A column of black and orange roared from the roofs of what had previously been a gas station: shifting and spiraling above the blackened metal and burned plastic. No humans had stayed to rubberneck, and the lone infected lingering outside the blaze hardly seemed to notice the way its casing had begun to melt.

In the front seat, Alice made a quiet noise, face turned away. Connor’s eyes stayed locked on the flames until they passed, one hand raised in fascination to take in the heat passing through the window-frame.

They stopped about ten minutes later, piling out almost a kilometer from Conant Street. Anderson’s death-trap was parked not far away, Markus emerging from the far side. Luther drifted in that direction. Connor checked the coordinates and started walking towards their goal.

Small, light footsteps crunched quickly closer through the snow, matching his pace. When Connor glanced over, Alice winced a little, trying to move quieter, but she didn’t fall back toward the rest. 

Connor studied her curiously: they’d planned to split into their teams a few blocks from the FBI’s headquarters, and he’d expected Alice to stay by Luther’s side as long as possible.

Evidently he was wrong. 

“Um…”

She didn’t continue immediately. Her attention was on him instead of their surroundings, and she was coiled with a fretful sort of energy that shrank under his scrutiny. When his eyebrows raised in expectation, she rallied enough to stutter:

“A-are you--are you okay?”

“What?” he blurted, utterly nonplussed. Alice’s eyes skated past him again, clearly searching, and Connor scowled. “...What are you talking about?”

“It’s just--” Her mouth twisted unhappily, eyes darting over her shoulder without actually turning to look. “That man--” 

... _Anderson_? It had to be--she wouldn’t refer to Luther or Markus with that phrase. He waited for her to retrieve her lost momentum, mentally replaying the group discussion for moments that might have sparked this timid concern. Anderson _had_ challenged Alice’s inclusion in their plan at all--but when Connor had flatly declared _her_ a better shot than the human _,_ the resulting sputters had hardly seemed worth lingering on. 

By the way Alice’s stare was now glued to the pavement, that wasn’t what she had in mind. When she finally found her voice, it crept out in a whisper.

“He… he was your owner. Right?”

Connor actually stopped walking. “... _What_.”

She stumbled to a halt beside him, arms hugging herself as she peered up. “And--he attacked before, and--you don’t _look_ like you’re hurt? But humans can hurt androids really badly, so--” 

… _What the hell_. Connor decidedly refused to repeat the phrase a third time (like some malfunctioning wind-up toy) despite the strong, incredulous desire. He wasn’t sure what offended him more: the idea that Anderson’s blundering could have harmed him, or… the _rest_. 

He sliced a hand through the air, cutting clean through her verbal fumbling. “Anderson was _not_ my owner.”

Alice paused. Her head was bowed, form huddled inwards, but her eyes lingered on his expression with obvious doubt. “But…”

But they knew each other. But Connor had worked for the police. But Anderson still _acted_ like it, and Connor sneered. “He was my… _partner_.” 

There wasn’t a better word. Still, Connor spat it out like a bad taste.

“...Oh.” Alice hesitated, clearly trying to reconcile that with the circumstances of their reunion. (With the summary Connor had provided _then_.) “And he…”

Connor met her look with an unkind smile. “We didn’t get along.”

An understatement, obviously. His final day with Anderson was hardly the human’s _first_ attempt to destroy his ‘real’ partner’s killer. But Connor had rather hoped to make it the last. He’d certainly put in enough of his own effort: reporting the lieutenant’s sabotage of the investigation, making sure to remind him of _everyone_ he’d failed on the way. The man was one suspension and a drinking game away from solving both of their problems, and their last incident _had_ seen Anderson sent home...

He shook his head, discarding the unpleasant recollection. “ _I_ belonged to _Cyberlife_ ,” he informed Alice instead, fingers tapping crisply at the glowing letters on his jacket. 

The declaration was met with an uncertain frown. Belatedly, Connor remembered that Alice knew considerably more of that history than he had shared. She’d seen his memories: of deviation, of _Amanda--_

Connor swallowed back the icy chill choking his throat--and forcibly wrenched the conversation back on topic. 

“If Anderson tries anything now, I’ll kill him,” he snapped. Belatedly, he added: “...so don’t worry.”

A tug lingered at the corners of Alice’s mouth, but she nodded dutifully, and resumed walking when he did. 

The crunch of their supposed allies’ footsteps had grown close enough to hear. Connor continued in silence for a while, putting some distance between the walking groups. Alice said nothing, but--the tense curl of her shoulders _had_ eased when he glanced over. Which didn’t make her worries any less ridiculous in the first place, but…

She’d been frightened of Anderson. Worried about _owners_ , and the abuse they might inflict. And she’d hardly emerged from Luther’s shadow--or his own--since the human had arrived. Almost unwillingly, Connor compared this behavior to the more… fragile quirks she’d displayed when they first met. 

The question slipped out almost casually: “What was _your_ owner’s name?”

Alice’s steps stuttered, shoulders hunching back again. “It… um... Todd Williams. I’m--I was Alice Williams.” She chewed on her lower lip, brow furrowing. “...Why?”

“Curiosity.”

She eyed him doubtfully, but didn’t seem inclined to push the matter. After a few more seconds she turned her attention to the road.

\---

They paused a few blocks from the FBI’s headquarters, waiting for the slower group to catch up and coordinate. For Connor, this meant eye-rolling his way through Markus’ cautions and contingencies. Alice spent the duration tucked against Luther’s side, sheltered from the wind. By the time he’d sneered off the RK200’s need to micromanage, the distant chopping of news helicopters could be heard. Evidently Markus’ lackies had done their work on time. 

Markus turned away. Anderson followed, pausing only long enough to shoot back a distrustful glare. Connor smiled in answer (showing _teeth_ ), and turned to Alice--only to find Luther lingering beside her, gaze fixed inscrutably on him. 

Connor stared back, eyebrows lifting. “Unless you can lose the infection in the next minute--and about two feet of height--you really should catch up with them,” he advised in a deadpan. “You’d only slow us down.”

Alice’s mouth flattened mutinously, but Connor ignored her. They’d discussed the teams at length back at the house, and as reluctant as the TR400 had been to be separated from Alice, even he’d admitted his presence would mostly harm the infiltration group. And _Alice_ had insisted on helping.

Now, Luther only nodded, one hand gently squeezing Alice’s shoulders. Still, his eyes didn’t move from Connor. “...Take care of her,” he intoned quietly.

_Obviously_. Connor scoffed, refusing to dignify the request with words. He turned instead, starting towards--

_‘I know what happened at the tower.’_

Luther’s voice echoed inside his head, and Connor stopped. Turned. Alice was slipping free of one last hug--and her guardian straightened, releasing her. But Luther’s hand was raised to his temple, brushing the place where an LED must have once sat. His stare was locked on Connor. 

Connor matched it, lips curving to a frigid arc. _‘Do you?’_

_‘That body wasn’t empty. You told her that it was, and then…’_ The larger android’s expression tightened fractionally, stoicism suffused with something grim. _‘She doesn’t know.’_

But _Luther_ did. Evidently. Connor recalled his position by the assembly rig’s console--the look on his face as Alice had let Connor down. It seemed strange, that an android meant for heavy labor would be familiar with those systems’ readouts, but apparently undeniable.

He tilted his head, tone sharpening. _‘So you’re going to tell her? Or Markus, perhaps?’_

Connor’s was dimly aware of Alice’s approach starting to falter--of her eyes flickering between his yellow LED and Luther’s face. He ignored it, one hand sketching towards his chest as he continued, _‘Do you really think I’d let_ any _of you take this body back?’_ Teeth flashed, a silent sneer. _‘You’re welcome to_ try _. Even if you somehow survived the attempt, you wouldn’t find anyone to save.’_

He’d deleted Connor-64. Whether they would have preferred his successor or not--that didn’t matter now.

Luther’s voice was grim and heavy. _‘I know_.’

...Connor’s hand dropped back to his side. What was he after, then? Some distorted sense of justice, for an android he’d never known--and one who would doubtless have destroyed _him_ every bit as readily as Connor? The sneer tightened. _‘Then--’_

_‘I’m telling_ you _.’_ Luther cut in. _‘Not them. Take care of her.’_

Connor stared, words deserting him in sheer bafflement.

_‘She calls you her friend. She thinks you’re worth risking lives for.’_

Alice’s misplaced altruism was hardly _his_ fault. Connor’s face twisted involuntarily, and across the distance Luther chuckled aloud, expression creasing with--not _gallows humor,_ but actual dry amusement. It was more expression than Connor thought he’d ever seen on the other android’s face. Alice glanced from one of them to the other, biting her lip as she clearly struggled with the urge to pry.

_‘...Neither of us deserve her.’_ Luther shook his head as the amusement faded, leaving something steely and hard. _‘But she trusts you.’_

That was Alice’s choice. Alice’s _mistake_ , doubtless, but not one he’d ever asked for. And why would it matter even if he had?

Luther’s eyes bored into him. Luther’s _demand_ settled like an implacable, solid weight. 

_‘Prove her right.’_

The connection closed. Silence rang between them for long seconds. 

...Connor’s jaw was clenched and rigid. Light glimmered off the building to his right as his LED spun: _yellow, yellow, yellow_ , even in the absence of a call.

Finally, the snarled knot of _outrage_ in his throat came loose. 

“...Fuck _you_.”

He turned, stalking off down the alleyway with quick, long strides. No heavy footfalls followed after, but Alice’s voice piped up behind him, tremulous as she scrambled to catch up: 

“Connor? Connor--”

He glared ahead, maintaining the fast pace. Find the virus. Complete the mission. And then this--this _deal_ would be laid to rest. 

\---

**North**

\---

A Myrmidon found North a few halls away from Arthur’s quarters, beckoning without a word for her to follow. The other android’s face wasn’t one North recognized, but she led North to the same storeroom with a calm, unhurried gait.

Inside, a familiar pair stood waiting. It was the same two Myrmidons she’d met first--the ones who seemed like unofficial leaders in their group. (At least in dealing with her.) 

“Connor’s out,” North said by way of greeting. Both Myrmidons stilled sharply, the full weight of their focus fixing on her as she continued. “And safe--for the next ten minutes, at least.”

“You found him,” repeated the shorter Myrmidon, unfolding her arms. “His status?”

North bit back a grimace. “He’s been tortured,” she informed them bluntly. “He can walk, but--he needs some serious repairs and recovery time still, and I don’t think he’ll take either until he’s back in Detroit.”

The second Myrmidon closed his mouth--presumably on a repair-related offer. Instead, his companion replied: “We’ve acquired command-level access to the supply transports. We can get you out as soon as the storm clears.”

And now they were at the hard part. “Thank you,” said North awkwardly. “We accept, but there’s something we need to do before we leave. When we left Jericho, our people were under attack from humans. They were being infected by a virus, and even now they still haven’t found a cure.”

If either of them wondered how North had up-to-date information on the mainland, they didn’t ask. Instead they exchanged glances, and the taller one replied, “We’ve heard of those attacks.”

“...Right.” North considered subterfuge for a moment, before going with her usual approach. “Keystone told Connor there was a cure here. That’s why he got caught up in taking work from Keystone, before everything went to shit. We think we might have a way of getting the cure, but--that means working with _Arthur.._.” The name had a foul taste, and her mouth twisted around it. It took concerted effort to continue. “...He already has some plans.”

“He seems like he would,” said the first Myrmidon vaguely. Her eyes narrowed. “What’s he doing?”

For a fleeting moment North wondered what it was like to live without every step feeling like a potentially life-threatening gamble. Then she shoved the sentiment aside.

“He plans to take Keystone out in a coup and establish himself as your new leader.”

When Connor had explained it to her, it sounded like he thought Arthur could succeed. Still, what were an outsider’s chances reallylike in a place like this?

Watching the _immediate_ tension of the people who belonged here was--new insight.

“You’re staging a mutiny,” said the first Myrmidon. Her LED burned gold, and it wasn’t because she was sending messages. “You’re trying to put _him_ in charge. Arthur. Why?”

...Phrased like that, the idea burned like smouldering coals. North could only imagine what her face looked like. “Because if there’s anyone left in this damn camp that can get us access to that cure, it’s him. He doesn’t have to stay in charge for a moment longer.” She huffed, adding, “Hell, I’ll help you get rid of him myself, when we’re done.”

The Myrmidons exchanged glances: a heated glare from the smaller android meeting her companion’s stoic reserve. When she turned towards North, her eyes were sharp enough to cut.

“You’re asking us to betray our commanding officer.”

North rocked back mentally. “Technically I’m _not_ asking for your help.” (She’d wanted to, but she definitely wouldn’t now.) “We’ll take care of this part by ourselves. Just--... Hold back, and keep that transport ready.”

“While you plot against Admiral Keystone,” the shorter Myrmidon repeated, voice dark.

North put her hands on her hips, arching one eyebrow. “Weren’t you literally plotting against him yourself a minute ago?”

“That’s not the same,” the Myrmidon snapped defensively. “Rescuing Connor isn’t--we weren’t turning on our own!”

“‘Your own’?” North repeated, glancing from one to the other. “...After everything that Keystone’s done, is that really how you see him?”

The shorter Myrmidon’s mouth was open, but her quieter companion spoke first--voice driving solidly through the silence.

“No.”

Both North and the other Myrmidon stared in surprise. He met North’s gaze, voice low and steady. “He’s not one of us. He’s our superior officer. That’s _why_ what he’s done doesn’t matter.”

Hot outrage filled her throat, and North found herself bristling. “Of _course_ it matters,” she snapped. “If he’s hurting people for no reason, then--how are you supposed to follow him? How can you stay here and work for someone you know won’t give a damn about your lives?”

The more vocal Myrmidon’s jaw had tightened, but her voice was dry as she shot back, “Actually, we won’t.” At North’s pointed stare, she continued, “We received reassignment orders yesterday. Most of us will be sent out within the week.”

Sent out to fight Keystone’s battles. To kill--or _die_ \--for the bastard who’d had them deviated just to use them like machines. North’s eyes flicked between their faces, half-waiting for the joke. Neither of them seemed to realize that it should be one.

The angry coil in her gut boiled over. “How the _hell_ don’t you realize that’s worse?”

They blinked. She plowed on, gathering momentum. “Do you like Keystone? Do you trust what he’s doing?” The yellow waver of their LEDs was answer enough. “Then don’t _follow_ him. If you’re going to pick a leader, or devote yourself to _anybody’s_ cause--it had damn well better be one you can believe in. Acting like this is just going to get you killed.”

There was a long silence. Then--

“...So you’re saying we should believe in _Arthur_?”

North’s outrage derailed like a train careening off a mountainside. Was-- _that_ \--what she was arguing? She was helping with the coup, and she _had_ hoped they might too, but… not for that piece of shit. Her gaze met the Myrmidons’, intently waiting for an answer, and she looked away, feeling vaguely unclean. 

“Just--think about it,” she managed. “If you don’t tell Keystone, we can handle the rest.”

From the glances they were giving one another, that answer didn’t entirely satisfy. Still, the taller Myrmidon nodded, and North took a tense breath, letting it out slowly. 

“And--keep your people safe,” she added. “How should I get in touch when it’s over?”

Silence. Their LEDs were still yellow, blinking with the steady beat of a private talk. Then the shorter Myrmidon sighed through her nose, turning to North. “We’ll find you. If we can’t, after--whatever you do, go to the South-East Hangar, and give whichever Myrmidon is stationed there this hash-key. They’ll understand.”

The Myrmidon stepped forward with an exoskeleton-bared hand outstretched, and North only hesitated for a half-second before accepting. The data transfer was lightning-fast, connection closing quickly, and North nodded to herself, filing the package away. 

“Thanks.” 

That was that. She took a step back, turning towards the door, before--pausing. 

“Before I go, I’ve been meaning to ask. What are your names?”

“We don’t have any,” said the taller Myrmidon, glancing at his companion. Whatever strain their argument had held, he seemed calm now. “Some of our series have picked them, but... we’re new.”

…They’d been deviant for _five days_ , and they still...? North opened her mouth to question their priorities, then thought better of the impulse. Not in time to avoid scrutiny, apparently--the smaller Myrmidon was watching and, at North’s continued silence, lifted her chin.

“ _I’m_ considering ‘South’.”

For a moment North stared. Then a snort escaped her, short and utterly devoid of dignity.

If the smirk curving across ‘South’s’ lips was any sign, it was an appropriate response. “Good name,” North managed. Then she inclined her head at both of them, turned, and left.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning and Summary** : This chapter includes virus-infected androids and descriptions of rioting inside the city. If you want to skip the relevant section, stop reading at “close enough to _watch_ ” and start again at “small, light footsteps”.
> 
> During this passage, the Detroit team drives through the city, and sees the rioting caused by the infected. There are fires and people getting hurt.


End file.
